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The Children’s Bird Friends 


BY 

CAROLINE H. PARKER 


192 ) 

A. FLANAGAN COMPANY 
CHICAGO 




COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY A. FLANAGAN COMPANY 


% € 

-* *> € 

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g)CI.A630270 


OCT 24 1021 



^ v « 



CONTENTS 


^ . PAGE 

Baltimore Oriole - 125 

Barn Swallow - 102 

Birds, Migration of ' - -.- -15 

Birds, Origin of - ^ 

Birds, Value of. --11 

Blackbird, Red-winged - 87 

Black-capped Titmouse, Chickadee - - - - . - 57 

Bluebird - 57 

Blue Jay ------------21 

Bobolink . 112 

Bob-White - -.----'----45 

Catbird - 121 

Chickadee - 57 

Cowbird - -- -- -- -- - _118 

Crow - -- --. --28 

Cuckoo, Yellow-billed - -- -- -- - 64 

Dove, Mourning - -- -- -- -- -35 

English Sparrow --------- - 37 

Kildeer Plover - - - - - - - -91 

King Fisher, Belted - -- -- -- -- 61 

.Migration of Birds ----------15 

Mourning Dove - -- -- -- -- - 33 

Origin of Birds - -- -- -- -- ^7 

Oriole, Baltimore - -- -- -- -- 125 

Owl, Screech - -- -- -- -- --41 

Pewee, Wood - - 108 

Quail, Bob-White - - - - - - - - - -45 

Red-headed Woodpecker - -- -- -- - 50 

Red-winged Blackbird - - - - - - - -87 

Robin. ----- - 76 

Screech Owl - -- -- -- -- *--41 






























Snipe - 93 

Sparrow, English - - 37 

Sparrow, Song - - 94 

Swallow, Barn - -- -- -- -- - 102 

Titmouse, Black-capped ---------57 

Woodcock. ---- - 92 

Woodpecker, Red-headed - -- -- -- -50 
Wood Pewee - -- -- -- -- - 108 

Yellow-billed Cuckoo - ----64 

a 


X 


N 








Our Friends, The Birds. 


AURA is a little girl who is so fortunate as 
|v^ to live in a beautiful suburb of a large city, 
where birds are much more numerous than 
is usual in a suburban town. From her ear¬ 
liest childhood she noticed the birds as they flitted 
about in the trees of the large garden where she 
spent the long bright summer days, and, as she 
grew older, she would leave her play at any time to 
listen to a bird’s song. ^ 

Laura’s aunt is a teacher of Greek in a 
woman’s college. One day, when her work had 
been unusually tiresome, she sat down on the window 
seat in her room and idly watched a little bird as 
it flew in and out of a tree near by. She became 
interested in her little neighbor and soon found out 
its name. She listened to its song and in her daily 
walks often found others of the same species; then 
she began to listen for other bird notes, and finally 



6 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


Spent all of her leisure hours in observing the 
songs and habits of birds. She always spent the 
long vacation with Laura and her parents. When 
Laura was scarcely out of babyhood, her aunt 
noticed her fondness for birds, and it was not long 
before she was learning a great deal about their habits 
and homes. 

The vacations came and went while Laura was 
unconsciously spending the summer days in the best 
kind of a school. Last summer she had just fin¬ 
ished her seventh grade work, so her aunt began to 
introduce her to bird literature. They had many 
talks together about the “poetry of birds,” and her 
aunt recited to her the beautiful poetic fancy embod¬ 
ied in the verses entitled: 


V" 



ORIGIN OF BIRDS 



T he Indians of the Shasta 
mountains tell 
A legend strange 
and beautiful; 

That the Great Spirit stepped from cloud 
cloud 

In the primeval day, 





And first upon the dome of Shasta stood, 

The spotless face of new-born earth to see, 
And everywhere he touched the land, up sprung 
A green, luxuriant tree. 

Pleased with the sight, the splendor of his smile 
Melted the snows and made the rivers run. 
And soon the branches tossed their leafly plumes 
And blossomed in the sun. 



Day after day, while the first summer shone, 

He watched with fresh delight the growing 
trees; 

But Autumn came, and fast the bright leaves fell. 
Swept by the keener breeze. 



Vet were they radiant now, in every hue 

Of red and gold which could with sunset vie; 
Looking on them. He loved 
them,—they were still 
Too beautiful to die. 




•s 


8 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


Thrilled by His quickening gaze, each leaf renewed 
Its life and floated buoyantly along; 

Its beauty put forth wings, and as it soared 
Its gladness grew to song. 

Thus from the red-stained oak the robin came. 

The cardinal bird the maple’s splendor bore. 

The yellow bird the willow’s faded gold 
In living plumage wore. 

Even the pale brown leaves the pageant joined. 
Sparrow and lark awakened to rejoice; 

And though they were less fair. He gave to them 
The more melodious voice. 

Since then, the birds close kinship with the trees 
Have ever kept, and built the yearly nest 

Beneath the fragrant shelter of the boughs, 

As on a mother’s breast. 


FRANCES EAUGHTON MACE. 



When school opened in the fall, Laura’s teacher 
wanted something for the school to learn and repeat in 
concert, and Laura told her about Elizabeth Akers’ 
poem— 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 

BIRD WISDOM. 


9 


H ow does the last year’s bird that never saw 
An egg, a fledgeling, or a half-built nest, 

Know to obey her species’ annual law. 

And when the snows melt and the rivulets thaw 
To start upon her busy April quest. 

And gather straws, and threads, and bits of moss, 

Tangles of wool from cruel pasture burrs. 

Plumes dropped from wings which never knew the loss— 
And shape of them, with limber twigs, across, 

A shelter for the brood that may be hers ? 


Who bids her bind it close with grassy strings 
To hollow it and round it with her breast. 
And line it with all soft and kindly things. 
Even the down from underneath her wings— 
Until it is a smooth and perfect nest ? 



And when its tiny treasures greet her sight. 

Those silent spheres of future joy and song, 

Soft blue, or sprinkled brown, or pearly white. 

Who tells her to protect them day and night. 

And keep them hidden close and warm so long ? 


Who teaches her to cherish them so well. 

To brood and watch the frag 
ile things above ? 

How does she know the germ 
within will swell 
And gather force to break the 
brittle shell. 

And be a living thing for her 
to lov^» ? 



10 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


Who knows ? Though nature teems with mysterieSj, 
She never grants us one enlightening word; 

The hoariest sage among us and most wise, 

Can only wonder with admiring eyes 
At the fine wisdom of a little bird. 

Surely, these feathered folk, who live so near 
To nature, understand her deepest lore, 

And, breathing in a purer atmosphere, 

Know what the wind says to the leaves, and hear 
What the soft ripples whisper to the shore. 

Roaming the realms of ether they may know 
Truths never touched by our imaginings; 

And when they look at us so far below, 

Poor dusty creatures creeping to and fro, 

Pity our want of wisdom and of wings. 


Miss Sweet, Laura’s teacher, was much gratified at 
the way the children learned and recited this poem, 
and it gave her a new idea. She was always anxious 
to interest her pupils, and there were no monotonous 
recitations in her room, because she always had some¬ 
thing practical and pleasant to incite thought and a 
desire for knowledge. She began by asking Laura to 
write on “The Value of Birds,” as the next topic for 
the general language exercises. Laura took great 
pains with her work, and as her fellow-pupils were 
greatly interested in it, I give it as she wrote it, hop¬ 
ing it may be an inspiration to other boys and 
girls. 


VALUE OF BIRDS. 



,0 WE often think how much we owe 
to these little friends? How much 
sweet music they bring into our lives ? 
With what beauty and grace they de¬ 
light our eyes? 

Would not half the joy of a spring morn¬ 
ing be lost if their glad notes were 
silent ? Would not the burdens of 
noonday seem heavier if no bird 
voice cheered us? And the evening shadows fall 
darker and sadder if they sang us no good-night melo¬ 
dies? 

Before the crocus and the violet come to tell us of 
spring, the Bluebird and the Cardinal are here clothed 
in brilliant hues, bright harbingers of nature’s resur¬ 
rection. 

They not only make life happier, but they 
make life possible by the destruction of nox¬ 
ious insects. Michelet says that in the hot 
climates life would be made intolerable by 
the myriads of insects that swarm there, if 
the birds did not keep them in check. 

Vegetation everywhere would suffer 
from grubs and worms if there were no 
birds; yet in return for all these benefits 



12 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


they have been persecuted and murdered until the 
life of a bird is one of constant fear. J 

Longfellow has made a beautiful plea for the 
birds in his story of the “ Birds of Killingworth.’' 
Some extracts from it I quote: 

“Do you not think what wondrous beings these ? 

Do you ne’er think who made them and who taught 
The dialect they speak, where melodies 
Alone are the interpreters of thought 
Whose household words are songs in many keys, 

Sweeter than instrument of man e’er caught? 

Whose habitations in the tree tops even 
Are half-way houses on the way to heaven ? 

“Think, every morning when the sun peeps through 
The dim leaf-latticed windows of the grove, 

How jubilant the happy birds renew 
Their old, melodious madrigals of love! 

And when you think of this, remember, too, 

’Tis always morning somewhere, and above 
The awakening continents from shore to shore. 

Somewhere the birds are singing evermore. 

“ Think of your woods and orchards without birds, 

Of empty nests that cling to boughs and beams 
As, in an idiot’s brain, remembered words 
Hang empty ’mid the cobwebs of his dreams ! 

Will bleat of flock or bellowing of herds 
Make up for the lost music when your teams 
Drag home the stingy harvest, and no more 
The feathered gleaners follow to your door ? 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 13 

“ You call them thieves and pillagers, but know 
They are the winged wardens of your farms, 

Who from the cornfields drive the insidious foe, 

And from your harvest keep a hundred harms; 

Even the blackest of them all, the crow. 

Renders good service as your man at arms, 

Crushing the beetle in his coat of mail, 

And crying havoc on the slug and snail. 

“ How can I teach your children gentleness 
And mercy to the weak, and reverence 
For Life, which, in its weakness or excess, 

Is still a gleam of God’s omnipotence ?” 

* * * Hi * * 

Just before the Christmas vacation Miss Sweet 
said to her pupils: “Next term, instead of our usual 
miscellaneous morning exercises, I want to spend the 
time in talking and learning about birds, and, as 
Laura was the first one to introduce the subject to us, 
I desire her to prepare a composition on the ‘ Migra¬ 
tion of Birds,’ to be read when school opens after 
the holidays.” Laura felt quite willing to spend part 
of her vacation in this way, and immediately wrote 
to her aunt, asking all sorts of questions. When 
her aunt read the letter, she exclaimed: “A little 
leaven leaveneth the whole lump.” (If you do not 
know what she meant, and where the quotation comes 
from, get some one to tell you.) In due time Laura 
received the answers to her questions, and meantime 
she had been hunting through all the bird books in 



14 


OUR FRIENDS, the BIRDS. 


her father’s library, and talking so much about the 
subject that her father and mother became almost tired 
of her anxious enthusiasm, but, at last, the writing 
was finished, and the eventful Monday morning came. 

Miss Sweet had written to several of the pupils 
to learn the poems she sent them, so there was a 
^ manifest air of interest and expectancy as the pupils 
took their seats and scanned the following programme, 
which was written on the blackboard: 

Song .Welcome. 

Essay .Migration of Birds. 

Recitation . . . To a Water Fowl. 

Recitation . . . The Wild Goose. 

Reading .... Trust. 

Song .Work. 

The song was given with spirit, and the entire 
programme carried out satisfactorily. Miss Sweet read 
“Trust” herself, as she knew that her pupils always 
considered it a treat when she could read to them. 
The pupils said after school that night that it put 
them in sympathy with the birds to hear Miss Sweet 
recite that poem. 


MIGRATION OF BIRDS. 


© 


NE OP the strangest things to understand about 
bird life is the annual migrations. We can 
readily see why birds leave the north on the 
approach of winter and seek a warmer climate; 



birds could 
but because 
cut off 
appear, 
the Jay, 


not only because so many ^ 
not find sufficient shelter, - 
their supply of food is 
when the insects dis- 
A few birds like 
the Chickadee, and 
Woodpecker that 

are not depend- 'S^ent on living 

insects for 
food, remain all 

winter in their northern 

homes; but the greater number are forced to 
move southward when the frosty nights of autumn 
drive the insects into their hiding places. 

When they go, and how they go, are still subjects 
of mystery. 

A few species, like the Wild Geese and Ducks, 
are sometimes seen flying in great flocks high up in 
the air, but many disappear and no one can tell the 
manner of their flight. Blackbirds, Crows, Bobolinks 
and others collect in large numbers before they are 
ready to go. 



16 


OUR FRiENUSf tHE BIRDS. 


The Crows go through a sort of drill, in the 
autumn, as if they were preparing for tht long jour¬ 
ney. One old leader gives the commanding “Caw- 
caw,” and the others fall into companies and battalions 
and away they go, only to swing and whirl and coun¬ 
termarch (or counterfly) back to the starting point, 
where they alight amid a perfect din of “ Caw-caws” 
and “Haw-haws.” 

After a few days of such maneuvers, they settle 
upon a time when the real start is made. 

The flight of the Wild Geese is well known to 
be in an orderly and exact manner, with a leader in 
front, while the others follow in the order of one or 
both sides of a wide V. 

They never go in “ Indian file,” one immediately 
behind another, but in this form that enables each one 
to keep the leader in sight as well as to see which 
way they are going. 

Many birds migrate only at night. When the 
nights grow cool a restlessness may be observed among 
the birds; a moving and chirping and low calling to 
each other in the darkness that is never heard in 
the summer nights. 

On some dark night a sound of many bird voices 
is heard, a sound that seems far away and yet over¬ 
head; then we may know that a vast company of our 
summer friends are passing, under the cover of dark¬ 
ness, away to a land of sunshine and plenty. 

The morrow may find the winds whistling through 


OUR FRIENDS^ THE BIRDS, 


17 


the bare branches where lately they swung their ham¬ 
mocks and built their summer homes; the rain and 
sleet may cover the fields where Bobolink and Meadow¬ 
lark hid their babies’ cradles; the clouds may hang 
dark and heavy between us and the sky, but the 
birds will greet the sunrise amid the orange groves of 
Florida or the green islands of the Atlantic. 

And when the winter snows have melted, and the 
warm spring sun is calling bud and blossom back to 
life, some morning we awake to find the birds have 
come again. The very Robin that built his nest in our 
apple tree last summer is back again in our door- 
yard; and the self-same Oriole that swung his basket 
from a branch of yonder elm, is piping his gayest 
notes from its topmost branch. Twice they have trav¬ 
eled those weary miles over land and sea since last we 
heard them. r\ 

This is the mystery,—how they know the way.J 


TO A WATERFOWL 


BY WII.I.IAM CUI.I.EN BRYANT. 



' There is a Power whose care 
Teaches the way along that pathless coast, 
The desert and illimitable air— 

Lone wandering, but not lost. 

All day thy wings have fanned 
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere; 
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, 
Though the dark night be near. 


18 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 

And soon that toil shall end; 

Soon shalt thon find a summer home, and rest 
And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend 
Soon o’er thy sheltered nest. 


Thou’rt gone; the abyss of heaven 
Hath swallowed up thy form; yet on my heart 
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, 
And shall not soon depart. 


He, who, from zone to zone. 

Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,*^ 
In the long way that I must tread alone J 

Will lead my steps aright. 


THE WILD GEESE. 

BY JAMES HERBERT MORSE. 

The wild geese flying in the night behold 
Our sunken towns lie underneath a sea 
Which buoys them on its billows. Liberty 
They have, but such as those frail barques of old 
That crossed unsounded mains to reach our wold. 
To them the night unspeakably is free; 

They have the moon and stars for company, 

To them no foe but the remorseless cold. 

And froth of polar currents darting past. 

That have been near the world’s end lair of storms; 
Enormous billows float their fragile forms. 

Yes, those frail beings tossing on the vast 
Of wild revolving winds, feel no dismay 
’Tis we who dread the thunder, and not they. 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 

TRUST. 


19 


BY BENJAMIN F. EEGGETT. 

, Once more the song birds set the air athrill 
With symphonies of praise, 

And birds and blossoms grow to music’s trill 
In warm and sheltered ways. 

How fair the earth in tender green arrayed, 

How sweet the wild notes sung, 

When tufted branches weave a web of shade 
And new made nests are swung. 

How know the wild birds when to take the wing 
From southern grove or clime ? 

What voices tell the dreaming earth that spring 
' Has brought the waking time ? 

iNay, question not nor doubt but birds can tell 
The time to come and go,— 

The earth to wake the sweet flowers in the dell. 

Doth God not always know ? 

When the exercises were finished, Miss Sweet ex¬ 
pressed her appreciation of the effort, and then said: 
“ I have prepared a list of names of birds with which I 
thought it would be easy to begin our lessons, as they 
are all familiar, and most of ns will find some oppor¬ 
tunity for personal observation. I have asked Laura 
to prepare a scientific description of each bird, which, 
for convenience, we will call a ‘table.’ We will begin 
each day’s lesson with this ‘table,’ which I desire you 


20 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


to copy carefully into a note book, with the list of 
birds we are studying, and other matters of interest 
that may come up.” 

Resident Birds. 

Blue Jay, English Sparrow 

Crow, Owl, 

Dove, Quail. 

Woodpecker (casual resident). 



THE BLUE JAY. 

{Cya7iocitta crista'ta.) 




^URPLISH BLUE, below pale purplish gray, whitening on 
the under parts. A black collar on lower throat and up 
the .sides of the neck and head behind the crest. Black 
frontlet bordered with whitish. Tail feathers, except 
the central, broadly tipped with pure white. Tail much rounded. 

Length 11 to 12 inches. Extent 16 to 17. Female not 
so richly colored. Eastern North America. Half migratory. 
Nest in trees or bushes, or any odd nook, large and substantial. 
Eggs five to six, drab colored, with brown spots. 


One of Miss Sweet’s pupils had a talent for draw¬ 
ing, which had been carefully cultivated. The pupils 
in this school were inclined to give good-natured 
nick-names to each other, so he was dubbed “Artist.” 
He had come early to school and drawn in colored 
chalk a beautiful Blue Jay, perched on a dead limb just 
over the “table” which Laura had put upon the black¬ 
board the night before. This was a pleasant surprise 
to both teacher and pupils. 

“ I saw several Blue Jays in our garden this 
morning,” said Laura. “They were on the evergreens. 
They looked beautiful with their blue coats against 
the dark green background.” 

“I saw one when I first got up this morning,” 
said “Artist,” “and it was the real bird that suggested 
the picture.” 



BLUE JAY. 

[one-third life size.] 


















OUR FRIKNDS, THE BIRDS.. 


23 


“We are much obliged to him,” said Miss Sweet. 
“He seems to be quite common here' and, as Laura 
suggests, he makes a pretty picture, giving to our 
northern landscapes the only coloring of bird life that 
they possess after the snows begin to fall. The Car¬ 
dinal Grosbeak returns very early, as also the purple 
Grackle. 

“These three make a bright picture when they 
come about the door-yard on a snowy March morning, 
the Cardinal with his scarlet coat, the Jay in his suit of 
blue, and the yellow-eyed Grackle dressed in purplish 
brown with head of iridescent green. 

“ To the Jay’s habit of burying nuts in the ground, 
we owe many of our fine forest trees. He buries more 
than he ever digs up. I once saw a Jay carrying away 
pumpkin-seeds that were drying in the sun, and plac¬ 
ing them in orevices of the fence, he covered them 
carefully with bits of moss. 

“ He utters some harsh notes, and others that have 
a bell-like melody.” 

Laura had told her teacher of a story her aunt 
wrote for her about some Blue Jays in their garden, 
and Miss Sweet asked her to bring it to school and 
read it. It is entitled: 


24 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


THE BLACK SHEEP. 

It was one of those bright mornings that some¬ 
times come in March, when the sun rises bright and 
clear and melts away the last drifts of snow that linger 
on the northern slopes. A warm breeze came from the 
south that caused people to throw up their windows 
and begin to dream of spring. 

Suddenly, from the top of a tall tree in the yard, 
there rang out the clear, bell-like “to-loo-loo’’ of a com¬ 
pany of Blue Jays. Everybody came out and looked for 
the singers. People who were passing stopped, looked 
up, and passed on with a more cheerful step. It may 
have been because they were the first bird notes of the 
year, that they attracted so much attention. 

After hearing nothing but the chatter of English 
Sparrows for so many weeks, the first ringing notes of 
the Jays were welcome music; but who would stop to 
listen to them after the Bluebirds and Robins came ? 

For a few days they came about the yard in a 
flock, then all but one pair left. These birds built their 
nest in a pine tree near the house. The nest was a 
great clumsy affair of sticks, and dirt, and feathers. 

One da}’, going out to look at something in the 
yard, I saw what, at first, looked like a bunch of bluish 
white feathers on a dead branch, that was lying on the 
ground. Looking closely, I found it was a young Jay, 
just out of the nest. He sat there with his head drawn 
down, not moving a feather until I touched him; then 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


25 


he gave a little “squawk” that brought the old birds 
about my head in a flash. 

He could hop about in a lively manner, but was 
not much inclined to move unless urged with a stick 
or the parents’ sharp commands. 

Several times he was picked up, but every time 
the old birds gave a scream, and flapped down on the 
head of the officious person who dared to touch thffir 
baby. 

In the evening, fearing a cat might get him, I 
threv/ him up into the pine, where he caught and held 
to the branch until the next day. The others never 
came to the ground, but remained near the nest until 
they learned to fly. 

They seemed to be too sleepy, for awhile, to try to 
fly. The old ones coaxed and scolded, and flew back 
and forth over them to show them how to fly; but 
they would merely rise up on their long legs, stretch 
one wing slowly, then the other, and settle down for 
another nap. 

After a few days they learned to fly about the 
tree, but the one who had fallen to the ground was 
more trouble to the parents than all the rest. He 
must have been the black sheep of the family. The 
feathers never grew on his head and neck, like the 
others, but he was always bald-headed and without a 
necktie. His neck was so slim as to remind one of a 
vulture. He must have taken a cold going with a bare 
neck, for, as he grew older, his voice became harsh and 


26 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


his tones querulous, as though he had a bad temper. 
Perhaps some one had told him how ugly he was. 

The whole family^ remained about the yard all 
summer, and in a few weeks grew so much like the old 
ones that I could not distinguish one from another 
except poor “Baldy,” as I called him. His head and 
his voice marked him from all other Jays. 

Some Sparrows were in the habit of coming down 
every morning for the crumbs that were thrown to 
them. Sometimes one of them would catch up a large 
crumb and fly up to the roof or the grape arbor to 
enjoy it all alone; but no sooner did he alight than 
“Baldy” was beside him and snatched it away before 
he could take a mouthful. 

The others were all well-behaved birds, worked fot 
their living, and attended strictly to their business, 
which was helping everybody in the neighborhood to 
keep Poor Richard’s maxim: “The early bird catches 
the worm.” 

The pupils recited in concert the following lines 
by Isabella W. McConike : 

The prettiest picture that I ever have seen 
Is a beautiful snow-crowned evergreen; 

While in and out the branches all day 
Idly flitteth the brilliantly robed Blue Jay; 

His plumage as blue as violets in May, 

But his heart, like the charmer’s, cruel and gay. 

Miss Sweet read Eben Pearson Dorr’s poem on : 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


27 


THE BLUE JAY. 

The Jay he sings a scanty lay, 

As boy who would a fiddle play, 

Strikes one bar from tuneful harp 
Then screeches into discord sharp. 

Though boys to task again can turn, 

The bird, alas! may never learn. 

Creator placed within his throat 
A song that is a single note. 

Yet sweet this mellow minor chord, 

Prelude, perhaps it pleased the Lord, 

To song reserved for other shore 
Now vaguely hinted—nothing more. 

When she had finished, she said: We have still 
a little time for the questions, which will help ns to see 
how much we have learned.” 

QUESTIONS. 

Have you ever watched Jays build a nest? 

Where do they build? 

What kind of nest do they build? 

Do you think a Jay as handsome as an Oriole? 
Does he migrate? 

Have you ever heard how he helps to plant forests? 
Is it not possible that he planted some of our 
Arbor Day trees? 

What can you say of his singing? 

Is he a good neighbor to other birds? 

Is he a friend to the farmer? 

Is he honest? 

Is he peaceable? 

What is the best thing you have read about him? 


CROW. 

{Corvus frugi^verous.) 




HE COMMON CROW is a foot anda-half long. Featherr. 
of the throat oval, soft and blended. No snow-white 
plumage. Wings, tail, and back burnished. Head 
nearly dead black. 

Female smaller than male. 

Eastern United States. In settled parts of the country the 
Crow tends to colonize. Some of its roosts are of vast extent. 
Nest of sticks and trash, bulky. Eggs four to six, greenish, dotted 
and blotched with neutral tints, purplish and blackish brown. 

Nest in trees anywhere in the woods, usually concealed with 
some art. 

Voices highly unmusical. Crows walk firmly and freely on 
the ground. 


There was a suppressed excitement that was quite 
evident as the pupils gathered in the school-room this 
morning, for there had been a good deal of discussion 
the night before, while they had been copying the 
“table” in their note books. 

“ I feel as though we were going to try a crim¬ 
inal,” said an imaginative girl. 

“ Ho! a Crow is smart enough to go to college,” 
remarked a boy, a^ though that settled the matter. 

“ Because he’s smart is no sign he is good, is it. 
Miss Sweet?” asked a boy whom the pupils laugh¬ 
ingly called “Querist.” 



OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


29 


Miss Sweet replied: “Unfortu¬ 
nately they do not always go together. 
The Crow seems to be regarded by 
i men and birds almost in the light of a criminal.’’ 

I “But is he really very troublesome?” asked “Quer¬ 
ist. ” 

“That can hardly be doubted, although some writers 
claim that he has no friends because he takes a little 
corn, while really he destroys more worms which would 
injure the corn. I have seen a flock of crows walking 
up and down the rows of newly-planted corn, while one 
sat on the fence to give an alarm if an enemy ap¬ 
proached, and afterward the farmer told me that there 
wasn’t much of the corn left. Another farmer told me 
that he believed that crows pull up the young corn out 
of pure mischief. He certainly has a bad reputation.” 

“My father told me,” said the youngest member 
of the class, known as “Baby,” “that he robs the 
Kingbird’s nest and destroys the young birds, and so 
they will drive a Crow away whenever they can.” 

“Yes, and lots of other birds quarrel with him,” 
said one of the boys. 

Everyone had something interesting to tell, either 
from personal observation or from his reading, for 
many writers have told about 
ll^__ the curious ways of 


Crows. 



Baby” 


30 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


read the following quotation that she had found some' 
where, but she neglected to get the author’s name: 

“ Whenever one hears a flock of Crows cawing 
away in the woods, he may be assured that some 
excitement is afoot that will well repay his time and 
patience to investigate. Crows will persecute an Owl 
that is taking' his noon-day nap;” and the author told 
of strange antics the young ones perform while the 
others sit around and applaud with loud “haw-haws.” 

One of the boys said: “I have read that Crows 
play a ‘fox and geese’ game, with some bright object.” 

Another said: “My father told me that they have 
a sort of martial drill which they perform under one 
leader.” 

“ I have found a poem on the usual theme, the 
Crow’s sagacity, which I think will please you,” said 
Miss Sweet. “ It is called 





THE SCARECROW. 

BY WAIvI^ACE E. MATHER. 

It was a regular Scarecrow-man, 

Made on the old and well-known plan; 

A cross of sticks in a garb forlorn, 

That stood on guard in a field of 
corn. 

And indeed it made the farmer 
smile 

As he put it up and whistled 
the while; 

It would look to the crows so 
very ferocious. 

So truly astounding and atrocious 

That it tickled his fancy to think how they 

Would catch a glimpse and flutter away. 

Well, two black Crows sat off on a tree, 

And the young one said to the old one, “See, 

Now, what is that frightful thing out there? 

ICs enough any honest Crow to scare! ” 

But the old Crow chuckled and then looked wise 
Shook in his feathers and winked his eyes; 
Something tickled him, but if Twas a joke. 

His voice didn’t show it a bit when he spoke. 

As looking down at the younger Crow 

He said, “What is it, Ah! don’t you know? 
Why, that, as we wise ones all suppose. 

Is the special patron saint of the Crows! 

We watch for his coming every 
year. 

To tell when tlie feast of the Crows is here. 



31 




32 OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 

See how he stands with his arms stretched out! 

He is calling the Crows from all about 
Such a kind invitation is most alluring— 

So very cordial and reassuring! 

I think we had better accept, don’t you?” 

And down to the field of corn they flew. 

QUESTIONS. 

What interesting stories have you read about the 
Crow ? 

Have you ever witnessed any of these perform¬ 
ances ? 

What do you know of his European cousins, the 
Rooks ? 

The people of Great Britain protect the Rooks on 
account of their great benefit to agriculture, why should 
not we protect the Crow ? 

Except Longfellow, what poet has said a word in 
favor of the Crow ? Do Crows migrate ? 


MOURNING DOVE. 

{Zenaidu'ra carolinefdsis .) 


^/A PPER parts grayish blue shaded with brownish olive; 
1 (s)l neck ochry brown, the sides of the neck glit- 

tering with golden and ruby iridescence. Under parts 
purplish. Black spots on some of the wing coverts. 
Lateral tail feathers, plumbeous-bluish crossed with a black bar. 
Outer four ended with white. Bill, black; iris, brown; bare skin 
around eye, livid bluish; feet, red. Length, 12.50; female some¬ 
what smaller and duller in color. 

Temperate North America, everywhere.^ Irregularly migra¬ 
tory. Almost always feeds on the ground. Nest on ground or 
in bushes; sometimes in trees. Eggs, two, white, equal ended. 
Their cooing continues through the mating season. 


“ Laura’s table,” said Miss Sweet, is about the 
Mourning Dove, which obtains its name from its plain¬ 
tive note. It is also called Carolina Dove. The name 
Dove seems to be given to the smaller members of the 
group of birds which by ornithologists are commonly 
called Pigeons. I have included it with the resident 
birds, because I desire you to observe the habits of 
domestic Pigeons. 

“ The Dove from the earliest period in history has 
been associated with the idea of a messenger (Genesis 
viii., 8-12), which is, I believe, the first place in the 
Bible where the Dove is mentioned. Its use as a mes- 

33 


34 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


senger has been developed by various races, and many 
instances of its usefulness are known in our own day. 
But, although doves in a wild state are very powerful 
on the wing, they are feeble walkers, as the}^ have very 
small feet and legs. Almost the only notes they utter 
is a gentle cooing. They are so gentle that they are 
used as a symbol of purity, and also of innocence, gen¬ 
tleness and affection. In Christian art they are an 
emblem of the Holy Spirit, and with an olive branch 
in the mouth one of peace. 

“The Mourning Dove is among the earliest arrivals 
from the south. Laura has a story to tell about a pair 
that built their nest near her house last spring.” 

“ A pair came to our lav/n last March. Before the 
snows were entirely gone they were walking about in 
their gentle, graceful way, always together. , They 
built a rude nest in the lower limbs of a pine tree just 
over the hydrant. 

“ The last week in April I found two young birds 
in the nest. Both parents fed them in the same way. 
by placing their bills in the mouth of the young and 
giving a shaking motion, which sent the milky, half- 
digested food from the parent’s crop into that of the 
young. 

“ They all stayed about the nest for several days, 
and then went away. The last week of July the pair 
returned and used the same nest.” 

“ What is the difference between Pigeons an^ 
Doves ?” asked “Querist,” 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


35 


Miss Sweet waited for some one to reply, and 
Laura said: ‘‘I asked auntie that question once, and 
she said that no sharp distinction can be drawn be¬ 
tween them, and in general literature the two words 
are used indifferently, while no one species can be 
pointed out to which the word Dove alone seems to be 
absolutely proper.” 

Then, I should think, if we observe the habits of 
tame Pigeons, we could learn a good lesson about Doves 
in general,” remarked a girl. 

That is true,” replied Miss Sweet. “ Have you 
ever heard this couplet by Bishop Doane? Please re¬ 
peat it with me: 

Ever, my son, be thou like the Dove, 

In friendship as faithful, as constant in love. 

“ Here is a poem by D. Conway that I admire 
very much,” and Miss Sweet recited 

TO THE TURTLE DOVE. 

Deep in the wood, thy voice I list, and love, 

Thy soft complaining song, thy tender cooing; 

Oh, what a winning way thou hast of wooing! 

Gentlest of all thy race—sweet Turtle Dove. 

Thine is a note that doth not pass away 
Like the light music of a summer day; 

The merle may trill his richest song in vain— 

Scarce do we say, “ List I ” for he pipes again. 

But thou I that low plaint oft repeating 
To the coy mate that needs so much entreating 


36 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


Fillest the woods with a discursive song 
Of love, that sinketh deep and resteth long; 

Hushing the voice of mirth and staying folly, 
y And waking in the heart a gentle melancholy. 

She had written on the board the following lines 
by William H. Hayne, which the school repeated in 
concert: 


Oh, come to the meadow with me 

While the music of the morning is heard 
And the rhythmical rapture of song 
Is sent from the heart of a bird! 

Come hither and wander with me 
For nature is breathing of love, 

From violets veiled in the grass 

To the tremulous wings of the Dove. 

QUESTIONS. 

What do yon admire most about the Dove ? 

When does its “cooing” commence? 

Does its first notes create a feeling of sadness or 
of joy? 

Why? 

How does it build its nest ? 

Have you seen one feed its young ? 

Is it a walker ? 

How does it compare with other birds in powers 
of flight? 

Where is the Dove first mentioned in the Bible? 
How often is it mentioned there ? 


ENGLISH SPARROW. 


{Pas'ser domes'ticus.) 


PPER PARTS ashy gray; middle of back and scapulars 
I (g)I boldly streaked with black and bay. A dark chestnut 
or mahogany space behind eye, spreading on side of 
neck. Tesser wing coverts deep chestnut. Tower parts 
ashy, gray or whitish; chin and throat, jet black; bill, blue- 
black. 

Female, above brownish gray. Streaking of back light 
ochrey brown and black. No black, mahogany, or white on 
head. Bill blackish brown. 

Imported from England some years ago, this sturdy little 
bird has overrun the whole country and proved a nuisance with¬ 
out a redeeming quality. 


‘‘I think the Sparrow is abused” said Laura. 
“One of our neighbors burns 'sulphur and kills scores 
of them, or stupefies them so that she picks them up 
and buries them. It seems wicked to me.” 

“Sometimes I get tired of their constant chirping,” 
remarked a quiet girl, calleii “ Student ” by her com¬ 
panions. 

“ Do you think they really drive our song birds 
away?” asked “Querist.” . 

“ I believe it is not really true,” replied Miss 
Sweet. “About every country home, and in small 

37 


38 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


towns, we still find all of our native birds. If they are 
not so plentiful as they once were it is more the fault 
of man than of the English Sparrow, for if we go out 
to the fields and woods, a short distance from any 
dwelling, we seldom hear a Sparrow. Many city 
children would never have a glimpse of birdlife if there 
were no Sparrows. This is ‘their excuse for being.’” 

“Some folks say they are quarrelsome,” remarked 
“Baby,” “but I’ve watched them for hours and I 
never saw them disagreeable. Only the other morn¬ 
ing one lit on top of the piazza, in front of my window. 
It had a piece of hard bread in its mouth, which 
it laid down and began to peck at. I suppose it was 
all the breakfast it was likely to get. Pretty soon 
another one came and tried to get some of the bread, 
but the first Sparrow picked it up, and turning his back 
on the other, tried to finish its breakfast. 
The other one looked about a little 
while, and then made another attempt - 
to secure some of the bread, which was u"' 
evaded as before. Just then another 
and began to bother in the 
Sparrow 



same way. 


one came 
The first 


picked up his bread, 
flew to the farthest 








OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


39 


corner of the piazza, turned his back as before, and 
coolly ignoring his friends went on with his breakfast. 
The other two stood looking at each other for a little 
while and then flew away. It was very funny. None 
of them seemed to be the least bit out of temper, but I 
imagined they were saying to each other, ‘How selfish 
he is.’ I saw him several times apparently pecking at 
the same piece of bread.” 

“ I have seen them fly at other birds,” said a boy. 
“May be they are only amiable among themselves.” 

“ That would be different from some folks,” said 
“Student.” 

“ Time is nearly up,” said the teacher. “ I will 
recite D. S. Pickley’s verses about the Sparrow:” 

You may talk about the Nightingale, th’ Thrush ’r Medder Lark, 
’R any other singin’ bird that comes from Noah’s ark; 

But of all feathered things that fly, from Turkey-buzzard down, 
Give me the little Sparrer with his modest coat o’ brown. 

I’ll admit thet in th’ springtime, when the trees are'gettin’ green, 
When again the Robin Readbreast ’nd th’ Bluebird first ’re seen; 
When the Bobolink ’nd Blackbird from th’ southland re-appear, 
’Nd the Crow comes back to show us thet th’ spring is really 
here— 

I’ll admit thet in the springtime, when the groves with music 
ring, 

Natur’ handicaps the Sparrer; he was never made to sing; 

But he sounds th’ Maker’s praises in his meek ’nd lowly way; 
And tho’ other birds come back at times, he never goes away. 


40 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


’Nd even in midwinter, when the trees ’r brown ’nd bare, 

’Nd th’ frosty flakes ’re failin’ thro’ th’ bitter bitin’ air, 

The Sparrer still is with us t’ cheer us when we’re glum, 

Fer his presence is a prophecy of better days t’ come. 

The Sparrer’s never idle, fer he has t’ work his way; 

You’ll always find him hustlin’ long before the break o’ day; 

He’s plucky, patient, cheerful, ’nd he seems t’ say t’man, 

I know I’m very little, but I do the best I can. 

What more can you ’nd I do than t’ always do our best ? 

Are we any more deservin’ than the little British pest ? 

So, when you talk of “feathered kings,” you’d better save a 
crown 

Fer the honest little Sparrer, with his modest coat o’ brown. 
QUESTIONS. 

What do you think of the English Sparrows ? 

Are they quarrelsome? 

Did you ever see them fighting other birds? 

Have you ever watched them building their nests? 
Tell soi^ie incident of Sparrow life that you have 
observed. 

Longfellow says: 

‘ ‘ The Sparrows chirped as if they still were proud 
Their race in Holy Writ should mentioned be.’’ 

To what does he refer ? 


SCREECH OWL 


{Scops a'sio.) 


ENGTH 8 to 10 inches. Upper parts brownish gray 
I in dappled pattern of lighter and darker shades, finely 
^ ^ streaked with black. Wing-quills dusky, the outer webs 
with several white or buff spots. Eining of wing yel- ’ 
lowish white. Under parts white streaked and blotched with 
wavy crossbars. Iris, yellow; bill, slate gray; claws, blackish. 

Nestlings are covered with white down. Eastern United 
States and Canada to the Rocky Mountains. Breeds about 
buildings, in stumps and hollow trees. Food mice, small birds 
and insects. Nest a slight structure in the hollow selected. Eggs 
five to six, white, subspherical. 


“Artist’’ was again up betimes and had perched a 
very wise looking owl on a dead branch of a tree with 
the moon shining behind him. Miss Sweet was so much 
pleased that she left the picture on the black board un¬ 
til after the Friday afternoon exercises that some of the 
parents might see it. 

Several of the pupils had never seen a Screech Owl, 
and knew him only by his voice, and had, therefore, a 
poor opinion of him as a bird. Others had a better ac- 
•quaintance with him and admired his beautiful plum¬ 
age, and spoke of the almost human look he has as he 


42 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 



SCREECH OWL. 

[one-fourth life size] 

sits upright on his perch and slowly and gravely turns 
his head to give an inquiring stare at any intruder. 

Miss Sweet said: “ Timid and superstitious people 
find no ‘poetry of sound’ in the hooting of an owl, but 
shrink from it as a sound of evil and woe. If they but 
understood his language they would know that he is 
only wooing Mrs. Scops, and to her his tones are as 
sweet and musical as the ‘love song of the Veery’ to his 
mate.” 

“ They are useful in ridding us of rats and mice,” 
said a practical boy. 





OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


43 


“ I found a nest once in a dark corner of my grand¬ 
father’s barn,” said ‘‘Artist.” “ It had four blue tinted 
white eggs in it. I thought at first it was a hen’s 
nest, until I saw the eggs.. I didn’t stay there long 
enough to see the young owls.” 

“ Don’t you think the poets help to make the Owl 
an unpopular bird. Miss Sweet?” asked “Querist.” 

“ Perhaps so. Poets usually call him a melancholy 

bird. 


The boding owl, upon the evening gale 
Sends forth her wild and melancholy wail. 

The moping owl doth to the moon complain 

and such expressions are very commonly found in 
poetry. Burns in his poem ‘To the Owl’ says: 

Sad bird of night, what sorrows call thee forth 
To vent thy plaints thus in the midnight hour? 

From some old tower thy melancholy dome, 

While the gray walls, and desert solitudes 
Return each note, responsive to the gloom 
Of ivied coverts and surrounding woods. 

There hooting, I will list, more pleased to thee 
Than ever lover to the nightingale; 

Or drooping wretch, oppressed with misery, 

Tending his ear to some condoling tale. 


44 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


Barry Cornwall sings: 

Mourn not for the Owl nor his gloomy plight! 

The Owl hath his share of good; 

If a prisoner he be in the broad daylight, 

He is lord in the dark greenwood ! 

Nor lonely the bird, nor his ghastly mate; 

They are each unto each a pride; 

Thrice fonder, perhaps, since a strange dark fate 
Hath rent them from all beside! 

So, when the night falls, and dogs do howl. 

Sing, ho! for the reign of the horned owl! 

We know not alway 
Who are kings by day, 

But the king of the night is the bold brown owl! 
QUESTIONS. 

Why does the Owl have few friends? 

Is not the Owl more useful than the cat? 

Why is the flight of the Owl so noiseless? 

Where do you find the Owl’s nest ? 

Why does the Owl have a more human-like look 
than other birds ? 

Where do Owls stay in winter ? 

Can Owls be tamed ? 

In what scenes do the poets always speak of the 
Owl? 


QUAIL. BOB-WHITE. 


( Or'tyso Virginia' na .) 


^ y OREHEAD and throat white bordered with black; 

crown, neck, and upper part of breast brownish 
I red. Under parts tawny whitish with black 
bars. Sides striped with brownish red. Upp^r 
part variegated with chestnut, black, gray, and tawny. 

Female h^s throat buff instead of white and with 
less black on fore-parts. Length 10 to 10inches. 

Eastern United States. Eggs indefinitely numerous; 
pure white, pointed at one end and very blunt 
at the other. Nest on ground among bushes, 
or in wheat fields. Destroys the weevil which 
infests the wheat. Notes sound like Bob-bob- 
white. 

“When I was a little girl,” said Miss 
“I used to enjoy seeing a Quail 
a rail fence and call out ‘more 
and I thoroughly believed in him 
weather > prophet. If I heard 
him when ^ a picnic was planned 
I was broken heart¬ 
ed. 

“The Quail ren¬ 
ders untold service 











46 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


to the farmer by destroying the wheat weevil and other 
troublesome insects; yet they have been so hunted 
down, trapped, and shot, that did not the law protect 
them they would be exterminated. 

“They are more timid and less plentiful than they 
once were, yet we may still hear them in the wheat 
fields calling, ‘Here’s Bob White.’ 

“The young ones leave the nest as soon as hatched. 
They are very active little things^ and can hide away 
in an instant. A quick flutter of the mother’s wings 
and every chick disappears under a leaf or tuft of grass. 
Then she tries to lure you away from them by pre¬ 
tending to be hurt and trailing herself along the 
ground. 

‘^The Quail is a great favorite with poets. 

“ I will recite some verses that I like very much, 
although I do not know the author, entitled 

WHO IS IT? 

Down in the meadow in the bright June weather, 

Where violets and sweet flags grow, 

Amid the waving grass and breezes light, 

I hear a voice calling: 

^ Bob-White, Bob-White. 

Who is it whistling the long June day, 

Down where the waters glisten? 

A bird small and brown, a wandering sprite, 

I hear him loudly calling: 

Bob-White, Bob-White. 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


47 


Where are you, Bob, and what have you done, 

That he calls you day by day? 

Perhaps you staid away in the night 
And home now he is calling: 

Bob-White, Bob-White. 

Maybe you’re held by a wood nymph’s spell, 

A captive in a dell wild and sylvan, 

And there you are hid from mortal sight. 

While plaintively he’s^alling: 

Bob-White, Bob-White 

Miss Sweet imitated the bird’s call so well that the 
pupils forgot their usual school room decorum and ap¬ 
plauded vigorously. She then recited Marion Frank¬ 
lin Ham’s 

BOB-WHITE. 

Shrill and clear from coppice near, 

A song within the woodland ringing 
A treble note from silver throat. 

The siren of the fields is singing— 

Bob-bob-white! 

And from the height the answer sweet 
Floats faintly o’er the rippling wheat 
Bob-white. 

The elder flowers in snowy showers 
Upon the velvet turf are falling; 

And where they lie the soft winds sigh 
The while the fluted voice is calling— 
Bob-bob-white! 

And far across the yellow grain 
The wafted echo swells again 

Bob-white, 


48 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


The purple mist by sunbeams kissed 

Drifts upward toward the morning’s splendor 
And through the haze of shaded ways 

The plaintive reed pipes low and tender— 
Bob-bob-white. 

While fainter, sweeter, softer grown 
The answer on the breeze is blown— 

Bob-white. 

The shadows sleep i#hollows deep; 

The dewy paw paw leaves are thrilling; 

The silence broods o’er solitudes. 

Unbroken, save one pure note trilling— 
Bob-bob-white! 

So pure, so clear, so sweetly rare, 

The answer steals upon the air— . 

Bob-white. 

O song of youth! Of love and truth 
Of mellow day forever dying! 

Still through the years my sad heart hears 
Your tender cadence sighing, sighing— 
Bob-bob-white. 

And far across life’s troubled ways 
The echo comes from boyhood days 
Bob-white. 

questions: 

Have you ever met Bob White ? 

Where? 

Was he anxious to become acquainted? 

How did he look ? 

What did he say, Bob-white or More-wet ? 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


49 


Did you see any of the little Bob Whites ? 

Do you know how they hide so quickly ? 

Don’t you think it a pity to kill such an interest¬ 
ing bird ? 

Is he a very timid bird, or would he be sociable if 
men were more kind ? 

What is your favorite poem about him ? 


RED-HEADED WOODPECKER. 

{M. er'ythroce'phaiiis .) 



»RI-COIvOR, wilh “red, white and blue.” Back, wings 
and tail glossy blue black. Tail coverts, wing coverts, 
and under parts white. Head, neck and fore-breast 
crimson, bordered with black where adjoining the white. 

Red feathers stiffish and somewhat bristly. Gloss is some¬ 
times green instead of blue. Length eight to nine inches. 

Young are gray where the old are red. Kastern United 
States to Rocky Mountains. Migratory in some .sections. Nest 
anywhere in woods, preferably in top of blasted tree. Eggs five 
or six, glossy and spheroidal. 

Feeds on acorns, nuts, berries, and various fruits as well as 
insects. 


“ Our‘table’gives a scientific description of the 
Red-headed Woodpecker only, although we might find 
much to talk about in the Woodpecker family. This 
bird does not seem to care much for travel, and some 
winters he does not go south at all. He is a carpenter, 
and you can hear the tap of his little hammer if you 
will listen at the right time, and you may see his chips, 
that look like sawdust, where he has been building his 
house in the side of an old tree or high up on a tele¬ 
graph pole. You can see only the circular door, but 
inside the house is shaped like a pear, and extends 

50 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


5 ] 


: i 



RED-HEADED WOODPECKER. 

[ONE-HALF LIFE SIZE.] 

deep down from the opening. He leaves a few chips 
for his bed. 

; “The Woodpecker belongs to that class of birds 








52 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


which law-makers have not yet decided to protect. 
Sometimes a tree is found girdled with holes made by 
the Woodpecker, and we conclude that the tree will 
die. (Though it does not always die.) Sometimes we 
catch the hed-head’ eating corn or cherries, and straight¬ 
way forget how many beetles and larvae he has eaten 
before he takes his dessert. 

The Woodpecker is not a singer, he is a drum¬ 
mer. Have you ever attended a symphony concert ? If 
you have, perhaps you have noticed at the back of the 
stage, almost out of sight, several drummers. They 
each had a part in the great orchestra, and yet, taken 
alone, their music would not be altogether agreeable. 
So, it seems to me, that the Woodpecker would be 
missed if left out of the great summer orchestra. He 
often drums Tor fun’ or, perhaps, to give expression to 
the gladness of life, as other birds sing. Laura’s aunt 
once wrote a story for her about the ‘Wickey.’ This is 
the Flicker or Golden-winged Woodpecker. She may 
read it to us.” 


“WICKEY.” 

The son of a friend of mine, with the aid of a five- 
cent piece, once rescued from the hands of some rough 
boys a young Flicker, or Golden-winged Woodpecker. 

Too young to fly, with only pin-feathers on its 
wings, it had dropped, or been taken from the nest. 

He brought it home, saying, “Mother, can we not 
keep this bird until it is able to fly? ” 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


53 


The mother being too kind-hearted to let it die 
without trying to save it, placed it in a box, and began 
feeding it carefully, with worms and insects. 

In a short time it had grown so large that she 
turned it out in the yard, expecting it to fly away. 

To her surprise, it stayed about the yard all day, 
and at night came into the porch to roost. After that it 
was allowed to come into the house or go out at its own 
pleasure. 

Its voice was not musical but it had a little call 
like “Wickey, wickey,” from which it was named. 

It provided its own food, after being let out, from 
the trees and ant hills. Often when its mistress started 
toward the garden, it would alight on her head, ride out 
to the garden, and busy itself in hunting ants while she 
gathered the vegetables or berries for dinner. 

In the afternoons, when she wished to take a nap, 
Wickey would sometimes come hopping into the room. 
She would say to him, “ Now, Wickey, if you come in 
here, you must be quiet.’’ Then folding her apron 
over the back of a chair, she would lie down, and 
Wickey would fly upon the apron, put his head under his 
wing, and take a nap too. 

When his nap, which sometimes lasted a half hour 
or more, was over, out he would go again, into the 
trees. There he thrust his long tongue into crevices 
of the bark and feasted on the insects hiding there. 

Sometimes when he came into' the house and did 
not find his mistress he would call “Wick-ah” then 


54 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


pause, “Wick-all,” another pause as if listening, “Wick- 
ah,” until he found her, when he would hop up to her 
and cry joyfully “Wick-ah, wick-ah, wick-ah, wick-ah, 
wick-ah, wick-ah” as fast as he could chatter. 

Wickey wore a handsome dress. His back and 
wings were olive brown with many black bars. His 
tail feathers were black with golden shafts and under¬ 
surfaces; tail coverts, black and white; top, back and 
sides of head, ash with a scarlet crescent; under parts 
of head, lilac brown with black spots; under parts, yeb 
low with black spots; under side of wings, golden 
His feet were dark, and eyes brown. 

At last poor Wickey came to an untimely death at 
the jaws of a neighbor’s cat, and my friend says that 
she has tried many times since to pet a Flicker, but 
could never succeed in making another tame like 
Wickey. 

Perhaps if he had lived longer she might have 
found him troublesome when his instinct for boring 
into wood had developed; especially if he had chosen 
some of her furniture on which to exercise his talent 
for boring. 

John Burroughs, speaking of some Flickers drill¬ 
ing holes in an ice house, says: 

“ One bird seemed like a monomaniac, and drilled 
holes up and down, and right and left as if possessed 
of an evil spirit. It is quite probable that if a “high- 
hole” or other Woodpecker should go crazy, it would 
take to just this sort of a thing, drilling into seasoned 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 55 

timber till it used its strength up. The one I 
refer to would cut through a dry hemlock 
board in a very short time, making the slivers 
fly. The sound was like that of a carpenter’s 
hammer. It may have been that he was an 
unmated bird, a bachelor whose suit had not^ 
prospered that season and who was giving 
vent to his outraged instincts in drilling these 
mock nesting places.” 

The class recited in concert, Clinton Scol- ^ 
lard’s poem: 



THE WOODPECKER. 


When on the southern slopes 
The drifts grow thin, 

And buds like lover’s hopes 
To swell begin, 

This truant comes 
And drums 
The springtime in. 

He marshals out the May 
^ For June to reign, 

Filling the blithe blue day 
With sharp refrain, 

For lo! he knows 
The rose 
Is queen again. 




56 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


And when with golden mists 
Is hazed the sun 
And lover’s moonlight trysts 
In dales are done, 

He sounds his call 
To fall, 

A ringing one. 

When seres the lone last leaf 
Upon its stem, 

And barren days and brief 
Our vision hem. 

Then to the year 
We hear 
His requiem. 

QUESTIONS. 

Have you ever observed any of the queer antics of 
the Woodpecker?. 

If you were a bird which nest would you prefer, 
the Oriole’s swinging hammock, or the Woodpecker’s 
nest in a tree trunk ? 

Tell something, or give a quotation, about the 
Woodpecker. 


BLACK-CAPPED TITMOUSE. CHICKADEE. 

( Pa'rus airicapil'lus .) 



ROWN and nape, with chin and throat black, separated 
by white sides of the head. Upper parts brownish ash 
with slight olive tinge. Under parts white or whitish 
shaded on the sides with a brownish rusty wash. 

Wings and tail like upper parts, the feathers edged with 
hoary white. 

Eastern North America from the middle'States north ware!. 

Nest in holes of trees, stumps, or fences, natural or exca¬ 
vated by the bird; of hair, grasses, mosses, fur, feathers, etc.; 
eggs, six to eight white, fully sprinkled with reddish brown dots 
and spots. A hardy bird; four to five inches; not migratory. 


I desire tlie ^table’ to be the most prominent part 
of every lesson, as that gives accurate scientific inform¬ 
ation,” Miss Sweet remarked, as the pupils were quietly 
preparing for work, ‘‘so every lesson begins with it. 
We begin to-day with the Chickadee. I have selected 
the following birds for our coming lessons. Their 
names are familiar to us all, even if we have not been 
properly introduced to them in Birdland, as I hope we 
may be before we finish our lessons. I have arranged 
them, as nearly as possible, in the order of their coming.” 


Chickadee, 

Cuckoo, 

Belted Kingfisher, 
Bluebird, 

Robin, 


Redwing Blackbird, 
Killdeer Plover, 
Song Sparrow, 

Barn Swallow, 
Wood Pewee. 


58 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


The children had frequently brought crumbs and 
seeds to school, which they scattered where they could 
watch the birds from the low windows, for, unlike most 
schoolhouses, these windows were not above the chil¬ 
dren’s heads. 

Laura said: “ I am well acquainted with the Chick¬ 
adee, and have thrown crumbs to him ever since I can 
remember. He stays all the year, but no one notices 
him in summer among all the other birds.” 

“There’s one now!” exclaimed a pupil who sat 
near the window. 

Miss Sweet permitted them to go quietly where 
they could observe him. 

“ vSee him swinging and singing in a cool, careless 
way as though he meant to have a good time,” re¬ 
marked “Baby.” 

“ Couldn’t be much else but cool with the tempera¬ 
ture at ten in the shade and snow everywhere,” said a boy. 

“ See his black cap and necktie,” said another boy. 

“ He doesn’t wear gay colors; may be he’s a bird 
Quaker?” said “Student.” 

“Is he much of a singer. Miss Sweet?” asked 
“Querist.” 

“ He sings no brilliant song, but his bright little 
notes are as cheery on a sultry August afternoor, or a 
bleak December morning, as they are in the ‘meiry 
month of May.’ The sounds from which he derives his 
name appear to be call-notes, and when repeated fre¬ 
quently a great number of them will assemble.” 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


59 


Laura said: “My aunt once told me that the Tit¬ 
mouse was Emerson’s favorite bird, and she taught me 
to recite some extracts from his poem entitled: 

THE titmouse. 

Then piped a tiny voice hard by, 

Gay and polite, a cheerful cry. 

Chick-chickadee dee ! saucy note 
Out of sound heart and merry throat, 

As if it said, Good day, good sir ! 

Fine afternoon, old passenger ! 

Happy to meet you in these places. 

Where January brings few faces. 

^ ^ 

Here was this atom in full breath. 

Hurling defiance at vast death. 

This scrap of valor j ust for play 
Fronts the north wind in waistcoat gray, 

As if to shame my weak behavior; 

I greeted loud my little savior, 

“You pet ! what dost here? and what for? 

In these woods, thy small Labrador, 

At this pinch wee San Salvador ! 

What fire burns in thy little chest 
So frolic stout and self-possest ? 

Henceforth I wear no stripe but thine 
Ashes and jet all hues outshine. ** 

5}i * * * * 

I think no virtue goes with size; 

The reason of all cowardice 
Is that men are overgrown, 

And, to be valiant, must come down 
To the Titmouse dimension. 


60 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


QUESTIONS. 

How did Emerson regard the Titmouse? 

Do you know the Chickadee when you see him ? 

In what way does he differ from the Pewee ? 

Where should we seek his nest ? 

Have you seen the Chickadee as often in summer 
as in winter ? 

Does the Chickadee ever say Phoebe ? 

Have you ever heard the Chickadee's Song from 
Hanson’s Calisthenic Songs ? 

Why can the Chickadee live in the north in winter ^ 


BELTED KING FISHER. 

(C al'cyon.) 


PPHR parts, broad pectoral bar and sides under the 
I (g)l wings, dull blue with fine black shaft lines. Lower 
eyelid, spot before eye. Under parts white. Quills and 
tail feathers black, speckled, blotched or barred on the 
inner webs with white. Wing coverts sprinkled with white. 
Feet dark. A long, thin, pointed crest. Plumage compact and 
oily to resist water, into which the birds constantly plunge after 
their finny prey. Length 12 to 13 inches. North America, 
common everywhere. This fine bird whose loud rattling notes are 
as familiar sounds along our streams as the noise of the mill-dam 
or the machinery, burrows to the depth of six or eight feet in the 
ground, and lays as many crystal white spheroidal eggs, at the 
enlarged extremity of the tunnel. 


One of the girls began the lesson by reading the 
following quotation from Wilson Flagg: 

‘‘The King Fisher is singularly grotesque in his 
appearance, though not without beauty of plumage. 
He is a mixture of the grotesque^ and the beautiful 
which, considered in connection with his singularity of 
habits, may account for the superstitions which attach 
to his history. He sits patiently, like an angler, on a 
post at the head of a wharf, or on the trunk of a tree 
that extends over the bank, and leaning obliquely with 
extended head and beak he watches for his finny prey. 

“There with the light blue sky above him and the 

61 


62 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 



dark-blue waves beneath, nothing on the surface of the 
water can escape his penetrating eyes. Quickly, with 
a sudden swoop, he seizes a single fish from an unsus¬ 
pecting shoal and announces his success by the pecu¬ 
liar sound of his rattle. 


THE KING FISHER. 

[one-third life size.] 

“The ancients attribute to him supernatural 
powers. It was supposed to construct its nest upon 
the waves, where it was made to float like a vessel at 
anchor. They believed that nature had gifted the 
sitting bird with the" power of stilling the motion of the 
winds and waves during the period of incubation. 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


63 


Hence the name of Halcyon days from their name 
of the bird, Halcyon.” . 

Miss Sweet recited the following poem that she had 
found somewhere although she did not know th-e 
author’s name: 

THE KING FISHER. 

When midsummer sun burns fierce as flame 
From dawn till eve in the sky, 

Come down with me-to the rocky vale 
Where the river glides softly by 
And under the shade of the willow trees 
The fishes in quiet lie. 

In the sleepy shadows that fringe the stream, 

The horehound and woodbine spring, 

And hid in the herbage green and cool. 

There nestles a wondrous thing 
That darts like a fairy arrow sped' 

On a green and azure wing. 

His wing j ust ruffles the glossy wave, 

As he skims o’er the placid stream, 

Behold him, splendid in dazzling blue. 

Lit up by the noontide beam! • 

If he would but stay! but he vanishes. 

As swift as a passing dream. 

Miss Sweet said: “The lesson has been short, and 
we will defer the questions until we have listened to a 
story Laura has written about a bird which belongs to 
the same ‘order,’ as ornithologists say.” 


64 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


THE YELLOW-BILLED CUCKOO. 

All through the summer, about the dooryard, I 
had heard the hoarse kuk-kuk-kauk-kauk of the 
Cuckoo or Rain Crow, as he is sometimes called. He 
is said to call only before a rain, and has thus gained 
the name of “rain crow.” This is not strictly true, for 
while the bird seemed to cackle more in the morn¬ 
ing, just before a rain, he called many times when no 
rain immediately followed. 

Although he seemed to be very near all the time, 
I could never get a sight of him. Every attempt was 
baffled by the thick foliage, until one morning a bird 
darted suddenly in at a window and out at the door. 

I knew by its long tail and silent flight that it was 
the Cuckoo. Once after that I saw it drop quietly from 
a tree to the ground and pick at something in a slow, 
sleepy way. It remained some time upon the ground 
with wings slightly drooping and a sneaking expres¬ 
sion in its whole attitude. 

A few days after this it again dashed into the room, 
and striking against the door, fell to the floor. It 
fought furiously with its sharp curved bill when picked 
up from the floor. It was placed in a cage for further 
observation. The fall had stunned but not injured it, 
and I had a fine opportunity to note the delicate 
beauty of its olive gray plumage. 

It had such a clean, velvet-like sheen that a queen 
might covet the dress it wore. Its long dark tail was 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


65 


tipped with white on its side feathers. Its breast and 
the downy feathers that drooped about its legs were 
grayish white. 

I opened the cage door and it dropped to the 
ground. For an instant it erected head and tail until 
they formed a graceful V, then it glided away in an 
upward curve, and was lost amid the leaves of the 
grapevine. 

Since that I have seen it, a few feet away, with a 
large hairy caterpillar in its bill. Although so elusive 
in its habits, it seems to be very self-possessed when 
unexpectedly brought to view. 

Let us recite in concert William Wordsworth’s 
poem about 

THE CUCKOO 

O blithe new-comer! I have heard, 

I hear thee and rejoice! 

O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, 

Or but a wandering voice? 

While I am lying on the grass 
Thy twofold shout I hear; 

From hill to hill it seems to pass, 

At once far off and near. 

Though babbling only to the vale 
Of sunshine and of flowers, 

Thou bringest unto me a tale 
Of visionary hours. 


66 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


Thrice welcome, darling of the spring, 

Even yet thou art ^to me 
No bird, but an invisible thing, 

A voice, a mystery. 

* * * 

To seek thee did I often rove 

Through woods and on the green; 

And thou wert still a hope, a love; 

Still longed for, never seen! 

And I can listen to thee yet; 

Can lie upon the plain 
And listen, till I do beget 
That golden time again. 

♦ ♦ * 

QUESTIONS. 

We often read about “halcyon days.” How is the 
expression connected with the Kingfisher? 

Where can we find the Kingfisher ? 

Upon what does it feed ? 

Does it appear to enjoy its food? 

Can it sing ? 

Does the Cuckoo sing? 

Is there any resemblance between the Kingfisher 
and the Cuckoo ? 

Do you know how birds are classified ? 


BLUEBIRD. 


{Sia'lia si^alts.) 



ALE, rich azure blue; ends of wing quills, blackish. 
Throat and under parts chestnut. The blue some¬ 
times extends around the head so that the chestnut is 
cut off from the bill. Length 6 to 7 inches. 

Female, blue mixed with dull reddish brown, becoming 
bright and pure on tail and wings. Under parts paler with more 
rusty brown. 

Smaller than male. Eastern United States and Canada. 
Migratory. Winters in southern States. Returns in early spring 
or mild winter weather. 

Nest in hollows of trees, posts, or bird boxes; eggs four to 
six, pale, bluish, unmarked; two or three broods. They have a 
melodious song. 


The reception of the pictures had been so flatter¬ 
ing to “Artist” that he again incorporated the table 
in his picture. A Bluebird was perched on a gate post. 
The table was printed on a placard directly opposite 
the open gate. The design showed much more skill 
than any previous one and was greatly admired. 
Beneath the gate the following quotations were printed 
in colored chalk: 


The Bluebird balanced on some topmost spray, 
Flooding with melody the neighborhood. 

H. W. LONGFEI. 1 .OW. 


67 


68 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


The Bluebird shifting his light load of song, 
From post to post along the cheerless fence. 

James Russele Loweee. 



. BEUEBIRD. 

[one-half life size.] 

Although the pupils in Miss Sweet’s room had 








OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


dQ 


become enthusiastic bird lovers, it was not possible to 
have a full exercise every morning and almost before 
they knew it March had come. One night after school, 
the first week in March, Laura told her teacher that 
she was listening every day to hear the soft, plaintive 
notes of the Bluebird. 

The next morning was sunny, and Laura, with 
rosy cheeks, brightened by her exercise in the ‘‘out 
doors” which she loved so well, came running into the 
school room saying “I heard a Bluebird. It said: 

“Spring is coming, almost here, 

Soon the violets will appear, 

And the Robins bring good cheer, 

Tru-al-ly, tru-al-ly, tru-al-ly.” 

Miss Sweet laughed and as the pupils quietly took 
their seats said: “If you will listen you may any of 
you hear ‘tru-al-ly, tru-al-ly, tru-al-ly,’ if you cannot 
hear all that Laura did. Where was the bird Laura?” 

‘T don’t believe he was anywhere, unless he was 
in the clouds,” said Laura. “I’ve watched and listened 
many times, but I’ve never yet seen the first Bluebird, 
and his voice seems to come from nowhere in partic¬ 
ular.” 

The weather continued mild for several days and 
Laura soon reported that she had caught a glimpse of 
the bonny blue wings flitting about among the trees 
at home. 

“Baby” said she saw one sitting on the post that 


70 OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 

holds the clothes line, gently lifting its wing and call 
ing cheerily to its mate. 

^‘Artist” observed that “the male bird wears the 
brightest colors,” and Laura said “I learned when I 
‘was a little girl’ (which made them all laugh) that the 
fashion in bird land was different from ours, for there 
the men always wear the prettiest clothes.” 

A whole week was spent on the Bluebird, and 
every day something new was reported. 

The weather was still unusually pleasant for bleak 
and windy March, and Bluebirds could be seen every¬ 
where, for many had arrived, and had already begun 
their yearly house hunting, and every pupil was able 
to report something new and interesting as the days 
went by. Some pairs would look about in a very in¬ 
quisitive and inquiring manner, investigating every 
possible place for a nest, while others were quite saucy, 
and even quarrelsome, with their cousins, the Robins, 
who had begun to appear. 

continued un- 
;o arrive. The 
considered the 
Li n de sirable 
neighbors, but 
it was not long 
before most of 
the Bluebirds 
went away to 
distant fields, 



OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


71 


where our young students could not follow them. 
Laura told the following story about a pair of Blue¬ 
birds she observed last year: 

“ I discovered a pair of Bluebirds inspecting a toy 
basket which I had accidentally left in a tree the sum¬ 
mer before. (Laura would like to be a bird herself, if 
she could, and sometimes chooses strange places for her 
play houses.) Mr. Bluebird was very much interested 
in the basket. He would alight on the edge or a twig 
near by, and call cheerily to Mrs. Bluebird. She was 
very slow in responding, and it was quite evident that 
she meant to have her own way in the matter. When, 
at last, she condescended to inspect it, and finally de¬ 
cided that it would be satisfactory, Mr. Bluebird was 
wild with delight, and away they both flew for material 
to build the nest. Mrs. Bluebird did all of the work, 
while he fluttered about and sang, but after she had 
brought the grass and placed it to suit herself, she 
waited while Mr. Bluebird would go in and look at it, 
and he would come out exclaiming ‘ tru-al-ly lov-ee-ly.’ 
(At least that is what Laura said, and she was 
there.) 

“ Soon the nest was completed, and six pale blue 
eggs were found in it. Now Mrs. Bluebird never left 
the nest, and Mr. Bluebird fed her regularly and 
cheered her by his pleasant songs until the little birds 
came. He was a devoted husband as long as I watched 
them, but, when the Robins began to build their nest 
close to the house, I forgot them for a few days, and. 


72 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 

when I went to look again, they had moved out and 
taken their family with them.” 

Miss Sweet recited J. Russell Taylor’s verses about 
the Bluebird, and other poems were recited by the 
pupils: 

Ere yet the fields were green with winter wheat, 

Before I thought to see the earliest bird, 

In the unbudded maple tops I heard 

The Bluebirds’ jubilant gossip, low and sweet, 

And full of bubbling merriment discreet 
Withheld from perfect utterance, for fear 
The cold should rage again, if he should hear. 

With all his whining winds and icy sleet. 

And snow the orchard full of mocking bloom, 

Round their blue wings. Seductive was their glee. 

So I was glad at heart to list to these 
Elusive voices, bodiless ecstasy. 

And delicate tinklings from old withered trees 
That marked the term of winter and his doom. 


THE FIRST BLUEBIRD OF SPRING. 


BY GIIyBERT S. EVERHART. 

Hark ! hark ! I hear a Bluebird sing ! 

His voice rings through the purple air. 
And tells me that the hand of spring . 

Is weaving garlands fresh and fair. 

In mossy dell, or frowning fell, 

And strewing blossoms everywhere. 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


What lesson doth the springtide teach, 

As from the mould the blooms arise 1 
How life begun below shall reach 
Eternal life beyond the skies; 

These souls of ours, in blissful hours. 
Bloom ever in God’s Paradise. 

A BAND OF BLUEBIRDS. 

{Ill Autumn.) 

By Wm. H. Haynb. 

Oh, happy band of Bluebirds, 

Brave prophets of the spring, 
Amid the tall and tufted cane. 

How blithesomely you sing! 
What message haunts your music 
’Mid Autumn’s dusky reign ! 

You tell us nature stores her seeds 
To give them back in grain. 

Your throats are gleeful fountains 
Through which a song-tide flows. 
Your voices greet me in the woods, 
On every wind that blows! 

I dream that heaven invites you 
To bid the earth “Good-bye;” 
For in your wings you seem 

to hold ^ 

A portion of the sky! 

Oh, happy band of Bluebirds! 

You could not long remain, 













OUR FRIENDS, the BIRDS. 

To flit across the fading fields 
And glorify the grain. 

You leave melodious memories, 

Whose sweetness thrills me through; 
Ah! if my songs were such as yours, 
They’d almost touch the blue! 


BLUEBIRD. 


BY MAURICE THOMPSON. 

Short is his song, but strangely sweet 
To ears aweary of the low. 

Dull tramp of Winter’s sullen feet. 

Sandalled in ice and muffled in snow. 



Short is his song, but through it runs 
A hint of dithyrombs yet to be,— 
A sweet suggestiveness that has 
The influence of prophecy. 


Miss Sweet wrote upon the blackboard the follow¬ 
ing lines by Frank Dempster Sherman, which the 
pupils copied into their note books on the page preced¬ 
ing the table, together with the lines which the artist 
had placed after the table on the blackboard. 

“ Born of the azure skies. 

His wings betray his birth; 

Earthward with song he flies, 

So Heaven comes to earth.” 



OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


75 


QUESTIONS. 

How early in the spring have you seen a Bluebird ? 

Was it alone or in a flock ? 

Which is prettier, the Bluebird or Bluejay? 

Is it a sweet singer ? 

Where does it build its nest ? 

Did you ever see the Bluebirds and Martins trying 
to get the same birdbox ? 

Do you see many Bluebirds about your home ? 

Does the Bluebird ever stay about your home all 
winter ? 

Have you read many things about it ? 

Can you tell some story or repeat some poetry you 
have read about it ? 


THE ROBIN. 

(Turdus tnigraiorious .) 


PPER parts slate color with a shade of olive. Head 
I (s)l black; the eyelids, and a spot before the eye, white; 

the throat, streaked with white. Quills of the 
wings dusky. Tail blackish, outer feathers tipped with white. 
Under parts and wing coverts chestnut. Bill yellow with dusky 
tip. 

Eyes dark brown; feet, blackish. Length about 10 inches. 


Extent 16. 

Female similar but colors duller. Throat with more white. 
Bill much clouded. 

An abundant and familiar bird throughout North America. 
Migratory. 

Nest in trees, usually saddled on a horizontal bough; com¬ 
posed of mud and grasses. Eggs four to six, greenish blue. 


Laura came down to breakfast one morning with 
her eyes shining, and quite forgetting the usual saluta¬ 
tion said: “ I know it is truly spring, for I heard a 
Robin singing before I woke up.” 

Of course the family laughed, but many a lover of 
birds has been awakened by a Robin’s sweet notes and 
felt as though it had been singing a long time, as in¬ 
deed it doubtless had. The Robin, even for a bird, is 
an early riser and welcomes the sun with his cheery 
song, that seems almost like an anthem of praise. In 
the nesting season his voice can be heard all day, but 

76 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 77 

it seems especially sweet in early morning and at sun¬ 
set. 

Laura reached school very early as she wanted to 
report having heard a Robin, but she found that the 
artist had been there before her. Printed in red, white 



ROBIN. 

[one-half life size.] 

and blue fancy letters at the top of the blackboard were 
the following lines: 

The world were sad without thee, 

Oh my friend; 

Sing still your love so sweet, your joy so calm, 




78 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


To every care thy warbling gives an end 
To every wound of woe ’tis healing balm. 

Daniel S. Donohue. 

The sweetest sound the whole year round 
’Tis the first robin of the spring; 

The song of the full orchard choir 
Is not so fine a thing. 

Edmund Clarence Stedman. 

Beneath the lines was a wide lawn, the grass show¬ 
ing green here and there, where a Robin had alighted 
and with his head on one side was peering about, while 
his mate watched him from a branch of a tree near by. 

The table formed no part of the picture this morn¬ 
ing, but was left where it had been written the night 
before. 

The pupils marched gayly to their seats singing 
“ Robin, Robin Redbreast.” As soon as they were 
seated one of their number was appointed to read the 
questions, of course awaiting the answers each time. 

The answers came quickly, for the Robin is a bird 
familiar to everyone, as it likes to build its summer 
home near the homes of men. There is no bird except 
the English Sparrow that is niore common, for it can 
be found in every garden and orchard in New England 
and all the northern states of this continent. It is one 
of the earliest comers in the spring and is among the 
last to leave in autumn. It can often be seen early in 
March and frequently remains all winter when the 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


79 


weather is mild. Laura told the following story about 
a pair of Robins that she had observed: 

“ Last summer I spent many happy hours watch¬ 
ing a pair of Robins that had built their nest in a large 
oak tree whose branches almost touched my chamber 
window. I happened to see them when they alighted 
on a branch in plain sight and began talking about the 
April weather. I soon found they were searching for a 
place for their nest, and I saw them bring grass and 
mud and attach it carefully to a horizontal bough they 
had selected as a safe place. It was interesting to 
watch them, but I was disappointed that they were sat¬ 
isfied with so rough a house. Mr. and Mrs. Robin 
were very pretty lovers, and as they belong to a musi¬ 
cal family I supposed they would have the artistic tem¬ 
perament, but I found that they were not even good 
artisans. My mother and aunt said that they consid¬ 
ered them very noisy neighbors, and they told me one 
day that they thought they were quarrelsome, but they 
never seemed to make harsh noises unless something 
outside of their family relations troubled them, so I did 
not mind their noise although they were always talk¬ 
ing. 

One morning I discovered that by leaning out of 
my window I could look right into the nest, and I saw 
four beautiful greenish blue eggs. I found out then 
why my best dress is called Robin’s egg blue. After 
this I never left my room in the morning without peep¬ 
ing into the nest, but one morning Mrs. Robin must 


80 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


have thought me too inquisitive, for she flew at me and 
gave me a sharp tap on my head. I was so frightened 
that I nearly fell out of the window, and after that I 
carried on my observations at a more respectful dis¬ 
tance, and did not try to invade the privacy of her 
home, although I thought the robins interesting neigh¬ 
bors and found out something new every day. 

‘When the eggs were hatched Mr. and Mrs. Robin 
were obliged to work very hard to support their family, 
for it did seem as though the little birds were all mouth, 
and lived for the purpose of getting something to eat. 
Auntie and I watched them one morning for a little 
while and those birds brought every three minutes some 
worms or insects for those open mouths. It was per¬ 
fectly wonderful, and after that I never much believed 
in their stealing many cherries or berries for I cannot 
see how they had time. After awhile the little birds 
began to get out of the nest, and the old birds would 
sit on a branch and call to them. One little bird tum¬ 
bled out and I was just in time to rescue it from the 



cat. I carried it up stairs 
and leaning out of the win- 
dow put it safely back in 


the nest. You ought to 
have heard what those 
^ birds said then! 


“But when Hooked 
again they were gone 
—the whole family. I 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. - 81 

didn’t see much of Robins after that, as I was inter¬ 
ested in other birds, until last January when I saw 
a whole flock of them in our garden. There are 
three large cedar trees close together in one corner and 
although the weather was very cold, the birds seemed 
to be very happy and comfortable. I think ^if we 
would notice more carefully we could frequently see 
these flocks in winter.” 

Miss Sweet said, “Some writers about the Robin 
think that he has not been noticed much in song or 
story. Now we will see what you have found.” 

The following selections were then read by the 
different pupils who had found them. None of them 
are very commonly known: 

WELCOME TO THE FIRST ROBIN. 

By Benjamin Copeland. 

Herald of the happy year, 

Robin red-breast sit thou here; 

Welcome to thy destined goal, 

Welcome, songster of the soul. 

Age and childhood find in thee, 

Kindred bond of sympathy; 

Hope and memory are one, 

In thy song’s sweet unison. 


Common freehold all hearts claim, 
In thy nature’s artless aim; 


82 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


Best of priests and poets, thou, 

Sitting on the leafless bough. 

Mead and mountain wood and wold, 
Wait the rapture manifold; 

Which shall prove thee saint and seer-. 
Dearest minstrel of the year. 

Glows the mold with vernal fire, 
Kindled by thy love’s desire; 

Nature wakens at thy call, 

To her annual festival. 

Every note like April rain. 

Thou transmutest in thy strain; 

With the sea.son’s subtle power, 
Winter’s dearth or summer’s dower. 

Matchless messenger divine. 

Peerless privilege is thine; 

Thou interpretest to faith. 

The deep mystery of death. 


THE SAME ROBIN. 

By CEI.IA Thaxter. 

Don’t you remember his glowing red breast 

And his olive brown coat and his shining black eyes. 
How he works for his dinner and watches his nest, 

A citizen sober and happy and wise ! 



OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 83 

THE FIRST ROBIN. 


BYJ. F. HEREIN. 

A Robin came to-day with earliest dawn, 
And whistled through the orchard 
avenues, 

Birdless and bare, and dull with clinging 
dews. 

From tree and shadowy fence the plumage shone 
Of this sole singer; while through lane and lawn 
He called in vain for answer to the news 
He brought to-day among the misty views 
Until his whistle and his wing were gone. 

The piping said not whence or why he came 
Before a bud is broken on a tree. 

While yet the brooks are icy, and the cold 
Clings to the earth. His breast was like a flame. 

In the dull morn; his calling seemed to be 
For life, not yet awake in field and wold. 


THE ROBIN. 

BY MARCEEEA A. FITZGERALD, 

Among the quiet peasants of Brittany they tell 
This legend of the Robin by children loved scrwell; 

This legend of the Robin, whose merry accents ring 
Through every glade and covert sweet welcome to the Spring. 

They say that when the Savior to Calvary’s rugged crest 
Bearing his cross moved forward, sore, wounded and oppressed. 
When foemen thronged around him, and friends fled far in fear, 
Above the angry multitude a Robin hovered near. 


84 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


And reckless of the tumult and angry cries of scorn, 

From out Christ’s bleeding forehead it snatched one cruel thorn; 
Then o’er the Robin’s bosom the sacred blood flowed down, 

And with its ruby tintings dyed the plumes of russet brown. 

And evermore the sweet bird bore upon its tender breast 
The warm hue of the Savior’s blood, a shining seal impressed. 
Hence dearest to the peasant’s heart, ’mid birds of grove and plain, 
They hold the Robin, which assayed to soothe the Savior’s pain. 

A SEPTEMBER ROBIN. 

BY MISS MUI.OCK. 

My eyes are full, my silent heart is stirred 
Amid these days so bright 
Of ceaseless warmth and light; 

Summer that will not die, 

Autumn, without one sigh, 

O’er sweet hours passing by— 

Cometh that tender note 
Out of thy tiny throat. 

Like grief, or love, insisting to be heard 
O little plaintive bird! 

No need of word. 

Well know I all your tale, forgotten bird ! 

Soon you and I together 
Must face the winter weather, 

Remembering how we sung 
Our primrose fields among, 

In days when life was young; 

Now all is growing old 
And the warm earth’s a-cold, 

Still with brave heart we’ll sing on, little bird ! 

Sing only. Not one word. 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


85 


The girls recited in concert the following lines by 
Bryant: 

Upon the apple-tree where rosy buds 
Stood clustered, ready to burst forth in bloom, 

The Robin warbled forth his full, clear note 
For hours, and wearied not. 

And the boys these by Lowell: 

The sight of thee calls back the Robin’s song 
Who from the dark old tree 
Beside the door, sang clearly all day long. 

And I, secure in childish piety, 
lyistened as if I heard an angel sing 

With news from Heaven, which he did bring 
Fresh every day to my untainted ears. 

When birds and flowers and I were happy peers. 

Miss Sweet said she enjoyed Charles H. Luder’s 
verses, which she recited: 

In country lanes the Robins sing, 

Clear-throated, joyous, swift of wing. 

From misty dawn to dewy eve 
(Though cares of nesting vex and grieve) 

Their little heart-bells ring and ring. 

And when the roses say to Spring 

“Your reign is o’er,” when breezes bring 
The scent of spray that lovers weave 
In country lanes. 


86 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


The Red-breast still is heard to fling 
His music forth; and lie will cling 
To Autumn till the winds bereave 
Her yellowing trees, nor will he leave 
Till winter finds him shivering 
In country lanes. 

Miss Sweet said: “ Our Robin, altbougb not ne¬ 
glected, is not so celebrated in song as the English 
Robin Red-breast, who is no relation. Our Robin 
belongs to the Thrush family, and some of his cousins 
are celebrated singers. We have given a good deal of 
time to the Robin, but he is such a cheery, neighborly 
bird he is worthy, of it. Next year, may-be, we will 
each have a story to tell about Mr. and Mrs. Robin.” 

QUESTIONS. 

Do you like the Robin’s song? 

Is the Robin a sociable bird ? 

Do you know any of his cousins ? 

Does the Robin belong to a musical family ? 

Do you know Longfellow’s lines beginning “My 
old Welsh neighbor over the way ” ? 

Where does the Robin spend the winter? 

Tell a story of your own about the Robin ? 


RED-WINGED BLACKBIRD. 


{Agelac'us phoeniceus.) 


ESSER wing coverts scarlet like arterial blood, bordered 
■ ©) with brownish yellow. Males, a lustrous black. Fe- 
^ ^ males everywhere streaked; above, blackish brown with 
pale streaks; below, whitish, with many sharp dusky 
streaks. Sides of head, throat, and bend of wing, tinged with 
reddish. 

Temperate North America chiefly east of Rocky Mountains. 
Breeds everywhere in its range. 

In August and September collects in immense flocks. 

Nest usually in reeds or bushes near the ground; occasion¬ 
ally in vines or small trees. Eggs, four to six, pale blue marked 
with brown. Note a guttural chuck. 


“Most of our information concerning the Red-wing 
Blackbird,” Miss Sweet began, must be obtained from 
books, as city children have small opportunity for 
observation of the habits of these birds. They are 
always seen in large flocks. They have practically no 
home life, but are like the folks who live in large hotels 
and spend as much time as possible in having a good 
time. Although the birds do take time to build their 
nests and rear their young. 

“They suspend their nests somewhat like the Ori¬ 
oles, and are almost as dextrous. Instead of selecting 
the highest trees for their homes, as the Orioles do, 
they prefer to fasten them to a tuft of reeds, or to 

87 


88 


OUR FRIENDS,' THE BIRDS. 


bushes in a low, marshy place. The nests are bound 
securely to the upright stems, sometimes by the leaves 
of the plant to which they are attached. 

‘‘They rear but one brood in a year after which 
they collect in great flocks. 



RED-WING blackbird. 

[one-half life size.] 

“In the south they do much damage to the corn 
crops. In the north, where they are not so numerous, 
they cannot do so much harm and in destroying grubs 
do much good. 







OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


89 


“Their notes are sharp, but cheery, and when 
heard at a distance, or when the birds seem to chant in 
chorus, there is something inspiring in the sound that 
once heard can never be forgotten. The Red-wing 
belongs to the same family as the Bobolink, Oriole, 
Cowbird, Purple Crackle and Meadow Lark. 

“I have selected a poem by Ernest McGaifey, 
who extols their musical ability.” 


THE RED-WING. 

On a bulrush stalk a Blackbird swung 

All in the sun and the sunshine weather, 

Teetered and scolded there as he hung 

O’er the maze of the swamp-woofs tangled tether, 
And the spots on his wings were fed as fire, 

And his notes rang sweet as Apollo’s lyre. 

The summer woods were a haze of blue, 

Draped and robed with an emerald kirtle. 

And the Blackbird whistled clear and true, 

Till the Thrush was mute in the flowered myrtle; 
And the spots on his wings were red as Are, 

And his notes rang sweet as Apollo’s lyre. 

A black bass leaped for a dragon-fly 

And struck the spray from the sleeping water, 
While airily, eerily, there on high 

Sang the Blackbird pert from his teeter-totter. 
And the spots on his wings were red as fire 
And his notes rang sweet as Apollo’s lyre. 


90 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


A fig for the music born of man; 

I shake my head, and I doubt me whether 
Your cultured strain has a charm for Pan 

When a blackbird sings in the sunshine weather, 

With the spots on his wings as red as fire, 

An^'his notes as sweet as Apollo’s lyre. 

QUESTIONS. 

Have you ever seen a flock of Red-wing Black¬ 
birds ? 

Do the}^ build as pretty a nest as the Oriole ? 

Why do they build in a marsh ? 

What is their food ? 

To what other birds are they, related ? 

Which do you think prettier, the Red-wing or the 
Grackle ? 

Have you read Alice Cary’s Story of a Blackbird? 
Or Tennyson’s lines to A Blackbird? 


KILDEER PLOVER. 

{^gia'lites voci^fervs.) 



BOVE grayish brown with an olive shade, and sometimes 
a slight bronzy lustre. Tail coverts from orange brown 
to chestnut. Forehead with a white band from eye to 
eye, and a black band above it. White collar and throat. 
Black collar continuous with black pectoral band. The foreparts 
are encircled with a complete black ring, behind which is a black 
half ring. 

A white stripe over and behind eye. Under parts white. 
Eye black with a bright ring around it. Length 9 to 10. 
North America breeding anywhere. Somewhat migratory. A 
noisy bird with a shrill whistle. 

Nest in grass or near water. Eggs four, drab or creamy, 
marked with brown. 


^‘Laura’s Table’ describes the Kildeer only, but 
we will take up the. Woodcock and the Snipe also in 
this lesson. Perhaps a slight comparison of these birds 
may better enable us to know them if we ever have an 
opportunity to observe them,” Miss Sweet remarked as 
the pupils were taking their seats. 

As soon as they were read}" for work, she said : 
^‘This bird is a small American Plover, which, on 
account of its shrill call, is in some parts of this 
country known as the Kildeer, and in other parts the 
Kildee. They are comrhqn about water courses and 
marshy places. It is amusing to see them run about 
in the mud, on their long, slender legs, in search of 


92 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


food. They run so fast that one cannot help laughing 
at their haste. They also fly with great swiftness. 
Their shrill cry of ‘ Kil-deer, kil-deer ’ is almost start¬ 
ling when they utter it as they suddenly take wing. 

“ They migrate to great distances, and are among 
the earliest of spring travelers. The young are able to 
run about and leave the nest almost as soon as hatched. 
Another shore-bird nearly related to the Kildeer is 

THE WOODCOCK. 

“ It differs from the Plover in having a longer bill, and 
the eye placed far back and high up, with the ear below. 

“Dr. Coues says:‘If the brain be examined, it 
will be found curiously tilted over so that its anatomi¬ 
cal base looks forward.’ Again, he says, ‘ They are 
knowing birds, if their brains are upset, and their suc¬ 
cessful pursuit calls into action all the better qualities 
of a true sportsman.’ 

“My only experience in hunting Woodcock was 
quite successful. Finding one in my garden one morn¬ 
ing among the corn, I simply walked after it and 
picked it up. It resented being caged by thrusting its 
long bill through the wires until it made its head 
bleed. This seemed cruel, so it was taken back to its 
‘native heath’ and released. 

“One peculiarity of the Woodcock is its habit of 
carrying its young from place to place in its feet. It 
is nocturnal in its habits, remaining concealed during 
the day and coming out at twilight to find food. 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


93 


THE SNIPE. 

“ The habits of the Snipe are somewhat similar to 
those of the Woodcock. Legs and bill somewhat 
longer in the Snipe. Audubon says of them: ‘The 
birds are met with in the meadows and low grounds, 
and by being on the spot before sunrise you may see 
both male and female mount high in a spiral manner, 
now with continuous beats of the wings, now in short 
sailings, until more than a hundred yards high, when 
they whirl round each other with extreme velocity, and 
dance, as it were, to their own music; for at this junc¬ 
ture, and during the space of four or five minutes, you 
hear rolling notes mingled together, each more or less 
distinct, perhaps, according to the state of the atmo¬ 
sphere. The sounds produced are extremely pleasing, 
though they fall faintly on the ear. We have so little 
time this morning that I have hastily described them 
that you may have more time for discussing the ques¬ 
tions.” 

QUESTIONS. 

In what do these three birds resemble each other ? 

How does the Plover differ from the others ? 

Do they all feed alike ? 

Have you ever seen them ? 

Where? 

At what time of day ? 

What can you tell about them ? 

Can you find anything in literature concerning 
these birds ? 


SONG SPARROW. 

{Melospi'za fascia'ta .) 



BLOW white, shaded with brownish, with numerous 
black-centered, brown-edged streaks across breast, and 
along the sides. Throat white. Crown dull bay with 
black streaks. 

Wings with dull bay markings. Tail brown with darker 
shaft lines. Usually a blotch on breast. Bill dark brown; feet, 
pale brown. Tength 5.90 to 6.50. Female similar in size, form 
and color. 

Eastern United States and Canada. Winters nearly through¬ 
out its range. A common winter .sparrow of the Middle States. 

Nest in bush or on ground. Eggs four to six, greenish white 
with brown, lavender or purple markings. Two or three broods 
may be raised. A hearty, sunny songster. 


As soon as the pupils were seated they began to 
recite in concert Henry van Dyke^s beautiful poem: 

A LITTLE BROTHER OF THE AIR. 

There is a bird I know so well, 

It seems as if he must have sung 
Beside my crib when I was young; 

Before I knew the way to spell 

The name of even the smallest bird. 

His gentle, joyful song I heard. 

Now see if you can tell, my dear, 

What bird it is that, every year, 

Sings “ Sweet — sweet — sweet- 
very merry cheer f 




•OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


95 


He comes in March, when winds are strong, 
And snow returns to hide the earth; 

But still he warms his heart with mirth 
And waits for May. He lingers long 
While flowers fade; and every day 
Repeats his small contented lay; 

As if to say, we need not fear 
The season^s change if love is here 
With ''Sweet — sweet — sweet — 
very merry cheer. 

He does not wear a Joseph’s-coat 
Of many colors, smart and gay; 

His suit is quaker brown and gray 
With three dark patches at his throat. 

And yet of all the well-dressed throng 
Not one can sing so brave a song; 

It makes the pride of books appear 
A vain and foolish thing, to hear 
His "Sweet — sweet — sweet — 
very merry cheer.’’ 

A lofty place he does not love, 

But sits by choice and well at ease; 

In hedges, and in little trees 
That stretch their slender arms above 
The meadow-brook; and there 
sings 

Till all the field with pleasure rings 
And so he tells in every ear. 

The lowliest home to heaven is 
near 

In "Sweet — sweet — sweet — 

very merry cheer.” 




96 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 




I like the tune, I like the words; 

They seem so true, so free from art, 

So friendly, and so full of heart. 

That if but one of all the birds 

Could be my comrade everywhere. 

My little brother of the air, 

I’d choose the Song Sparrow, my dear, 

Because he’d bless me every year. 

With “ Sweet — sweet — sweet — 
very merry cheer. ’ ’ 

This was a surprise to Miss Sweet. She was de 
lighted with the selection, the-excellence of the recita¬ 
tion and the spirit which prompted the pupils to learn 
the poem. 

“I think the Song Sparrow is a cute little bird, 
don’t you. Miss Sweet?” said “Querist.” 

“ He is a great favorite with me, and I think is 
almost as well known as the Robin and Bluebird, both 
on account of his early arrival and sweet song.” 

“ I wish he was not so timid,” said “Baby.” “The 
Hair Bird will come close up to the steps for crumbs but 
the Song Sparrow is too shy.” 

“ I saw one yesterday in the public garden,” said 
a boy who had recently moved from Boston, “ and he 
was singing as loud as he could. I was surprised, it is 
so early.” 

Several of the pupils had heard them, as they had 
begun to arrive in large numbers, and some of the birds 
were already beginning to seek a good place for a nest. 

Laura said: “ Last year a pair built their nest in a 



OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 97 

flowering currant bush in one corner of our garden. I 
happened to discover it, but they were so shy I 
never dared go near the nest for fear they would leave 
it. I looked up their habits in several books and found 
that they rear two and sometimes three broods in a sin¬ 
gle season. The male bird sings until the last brood 
leaves the nest.” 

“ Querist ” asked: Have you ever noticed how 
neat and pretty our little friend looks beside the Eng¬ 
lish Sparrows ? ” 

“Baby” said: “ I know him by his striped vest, 
and the blotch on his breast, as well as by his light 
brown color.” 

“ I call him a prophet,” said Laura, “ because he 
comes so early, and his cheerful notes are among the 
first of spring’s messages, even when snow has not yet 
disappeared.” 

“ I have often seen one in the winter,” remarked 
“Artist.” 

“ He is a great favorite with the poets,” said Miss 
Sweet. “ Sometimes I think that he must be a* poet 
himself, in Bird land, for there is no other bird who has 
such wonderful variations in song, and his voice may 
be heard from March through October. I will recite 
Lucy Larcom’s sweet verses concerning him.” 

Sunshine set to music! 

Hear the Sparrow sing! 

In his note is freshness 
Of the newborn spring; 


98 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


In his trill delicious 
Summer overflows— 

Whiteness of the lily, 

Sweetness of the rose. 

Pilgrim of the treetops, 

Burdened with a song 
That he drops among us 
As he flies along. 

Promises and blessings 
Scattered at our feet, 

Till we sing together, 

“Oh, but life is sweet!” 

Waft us down faith’s message 
From behind the sky, 

Till our aspirations 

With thee sing and fly! 

“ God is good forever! 

Nothing shall go wrong! ” 

Sunshine set to music— 

’Tis the sparrow’s song. 

The following selections were read by different 
members of the class: 

THE SONG SPARROW. 

BY EDWARD W. THOMPSON. 

When plowman ridge the steamy brown. 

And yearning meadows spread to green. 

And all the spires and towers of town, 

Blent soft with wavering mists are seen; 

When quickened woods in freshening hue 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


99 


With bursting buds begin to swell, 
When airs caress and May is new, 

Oh, then my shy bird sings so well! 

Because the blood-roots flock in white. 

And blossomed branches scent the air, 
And mounds with trillium flags are dight 
And dells with violets dim and rare; 
Because such velvet leaves unclose. 

And newborn rills all chiming ring. 
And blue the sun-kissed river flows— 

My timid bird is forced to sing. 

A joyful chorus lilted clear— 

Four notes—then falls the frolic song, 
And memories of a vanished year 
The wistful cadences prolong; 

A vanished year—O, heart too sore— 

I cannot sing; ” thus ends the lay; 
Long silence, then awakes once more 
His song, ecstatic of the May! 

THE SPARROWS. 

The Sparrows are interpreters 
Unto this heart of mine 

Of love beyond all human thoughts 
My Father’s love divine. 

For not one falls without his care. 
Yet Christ died not for them! 

O timid heart it is thyself 

That dares thyself condemn. 

ANON. 


100 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


SONG SPARROW. 


BY GEORGE PARSONS EATHROP. 

Glimmers gray the leafless thicket 
Close beside my garden gate, 
Where so light, from post to picket, 
Hops the Sparrow, blithe, sedate; 
Who with meekly folded wing, 
Comes to sun himself and sing. 


It was there, perhaps last year. 

That his little house he built; 

For he seems to perk and peer. 

And to twitter too, and tilt 

The bare branches in between. 
With a fond, familiar mien. 


Once, I know there was a nest. 

Held there by the sideward thrust 
Of those twigs that touch his breast; 

Though ’tis gone now. Some rude gust 
Caught it, over full of snow,— 

Bent the bush and robbed it so. 


Thus our brightest hopes are lost 
By the restless winter’s wind. 

When, with swift, dismantling frost 

The green woods we dwell in, thinned 
Of their leafage, grow too cold 
For frail hopes of summer’s mold. 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


ICl 


But if we, with spring days mellow, 

Wake to woeful wrecks of change. 

And tl\e Sparrow’s ritornello 

Scaling still its old sweet range; 

Can we do a better thing 

Than, with him, still build and sing? 

QUESTIONS. 

Have you heard a Song Sparrow this year ? 

Have you seen one ? 

Do you know him from Chippie, the Hair Bird ? 
When does he come to the north ? 

Where does he build ? 

What kind of nest ? 

How many nests in one year? 

Do they ever raise two broods in one nest ? 

Have you ever seen one in winter ? 

Is he one of the poet’s favorite birds ? 

Where do you find this from Lowell: “A week 
ago, the Sparrow was divine ?” 


BARN SWALLOW. 

{H, erythrogas'tra horreo'rum.) 


ID 


KEP lustrous steel blue; forehead and under parts, rufous; 
an imperfect steel blue collar. Wings and tail, blackish, 
with steel blue or greenish gloss. The lateral pair ot 
tail feathers much lengthened and filiform at the end; 
all but the central pair, with a white spot. Length, 6 to 7 
inches. Tail, 3 to 5 inches; the fork, 2 to 3 inches deep. 
Female similar, but somewhat smaller. Throughout North 
America. 

They build a nest of mud similar to the Robin’s nest, but 
lined with feathers, in barns, outhouses, or under the eaves and 
under cliffs of rocks. 

Eggs, nearly white with fine spots of purple. 


‘‘Artist” had again visited ,the school-room at 
an early hour and put upon the blackboard a picture he 
called “The flight of the Swallows.” Underneath he 
had written these lines by William Cullen Bryant: 


“There are notes of joy from the Hang-bird and Wren, 

And the gossip of Swallows through all the sky.’’ 

As Miss Sweet called attention to the picture, she 
said, “We have often enjoyed the work of “Artist’s” 
pencil, but do not hear much from him in class, so I 
asked him to write something about the Swallow, to 
read to us this morning. He must be a close observer 
or he could not make good pictures.” 



OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. ^ 

“Have you ever visited an old- 
fashioned bam? How cool and pleas- j 
ant it seems as 
we enter its great 
wide doors on a 
summer day! Here 
are stalls for the 
horses, sheds for 
the cattle, great 
bins of yellow com, 

the wagons, the carriage and, over in that corner, 
the sleigh. Above is the wide haymow, where 
Biddy hides her nest, and away up among the • 
rafters the Swallows have their mud-built homes. The 
man who built this barn cut holes in the gable ends—■ 
for ventilation, perhaps, but the Swallows use them for 
doors. How patiently they have worked to carry the 
clay and fasten it to the beams, then the grass and 
feathers to line it. 

. “What a busy throng they are, chattering, twitter¬ 
ing, catching insects, flying in and out on tireless wings, 
finding in the old barn their “city of refuge’’ from heat 
and storm. 

“. I have often lain on my back on the hay in my 
grandfather’s barn and watched them build their nests 
of mud and straw, carrying in at last a few feathers to 
make a soft nest for their birdlings. I have lis¬ 
tened to their low chattering, wondering what they 
were saying to each other, and sometimes I would hea: 





104 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


a clear, sweet note that was like the ending of a song. 
It always seemed to me as though they were all too 
busy to really sing, but a single note which ended their 
chattering was like a glad exclamation of praise for the 
joy of living. 

“I have watched them flying over the pond be¬ 
hind the barn, back and forth, as though they were 
chasing each other. I found out afterward that this is 
the way they get their food. 

“I have counted from twenty to twenty-five nests 
on the rafters in grandfather’s barn, and I used to call 
it the ‘Swallows village.’ I have frequently seen a 
half dozen birds sitting out on the little platform 
against their nests, which I called a piazza, chattering 
in- their low, soft voices, and imagined the mother 
birds and babies must enjoy the pleasant sound. The 
Swallow family is very interesting. The Cliff Swallow, 
Wood Swallow, Chimney Swallow, Sand Martin and 
Purple Martin are all cousins, having some of the same 
characteristics.” 

When “Artist” had finished reading his sketch, 
the selections were given. Miss Sweet beginning with 
the 

SWALLOW SONG. 

BY ANNA BOYNTON AVERIBB. 

O, to feel the wild thrill of the Swallow, 

The wonder of the wing, 

On the soft blue billows of air to follow 
The summer and soar and sing! 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


105 


To drink blue air and to feel it flowing 
Through every dainty plume, 
Uplifting, pillowing, bearing, blowing, 
And the earth below in bloom. 


Is it far to heaven, O Swallow, Swallow? 

The heavy-hearted sings; 

I watch thy flight and I long to follow 
' The while I wait for wings. 


THE SWALLOW. 


BY OWEN MEREDITH. 

O Swallow, chirping in the sparkling eaves. 

Why hast thou left far south thy fairy homes, 
To build between these drenched April leaves. 
And sing me songs of Spring before it comes ? 


Too soon thou singest! Yon black stubborn thorn, 
Bursts not a bud; the sneaping wind drifts on. 
She that once flung thee crumbs and in the morn 
Sang from the lattice where thou sings’t is gone. 
Here is no Spring. Thy flight yet further follow. 

Fly off, vain Swallow! 


Thou com’st to mock me with remembered things, 

I love thee not, O bird for me too gay. 

That which I want thou hast,—the gift of wings; 
Grief—which I have—thou hast not. Fly away! 


106 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


What hath my roof for thee ? My cold, dark roof, 

Beneath whose weeping thatch thine eggs will freeze! 

Summer will halt not here, so keep aloof. 

Others are gone; go thou. In those wet trees 

I see no Spring, though thou still singest of it. 

Fare hence, false prophet! 

A BIRD AT SUNSET. 

BY OWKN MEREDITH. 

Wild bird, that wingest wide the glimmering moors, 
Whither, by belts of yellowing woods, away ? 

With pausing sunset thy wild heart allures 
Deep into dying day ? 

Would that my heart on wings like thine, could pass 
Where stars their light in rosy regions lose,—■ 

A happy shadow o'er the warm brown grass, 

Falling with falling dews! 

Hast thou, like me, some true love of thine own, 

In fairy lands beyond the utmost seas; 

Who there, unsolaced, yearns for thee alone, 

And sings to silent trees ? 

O tell that woodbird that the summer grieves, 

And the suns darken and the days grow cold, 

And tell her, love will fade with fading leaves. 

And cease in common mould. 

Fly from the winter of the world to her! 

Fly, happy bird! I follow in thy flight, 

Till thou art lost o’er yonder fringe of fir 
In baths of crimson light. 

* * * * 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


107 


Miss Sweet wrote upon the blackboard Thompson’s 
description of their nest building. 

The Swallow sweeps 

The slimy pool, to build its hanging house 
Intent. And often from the careless back 
Of herds and flocks, a thousand tugging bills 
Pluck hair an;i wool; and oft, when unobserved, 

Steal from the barn a straw; till soft and warm, 

Clean and complete their habitation grows. 

QUESTIONS. 

Do Swallows ever build in trees ? 

In what other places than a barn do they build ? 

What enables them to fly so swiftly ? 

How many kinds of Swallows do you know ? 

How do they obtain their food ? 

For what trait are the Swallows most noted, for 
their song, their beauty, the swiftness of their flight, 
the gracefulness of their motions, or their ingenuity 
at nest building ? 


WOOD PEWEE. 

(Contopus vi'rens .) 

© LIVACEOUS brown, darker on head. Sides, paler. 

Under parts, whitish, tinged with dull yellow. Tail and 
wings, blackish; wings somewhat marked with white. 
Feet and upper mandible, black. Under mandible, yellow. 
Length, 6 to 6}^ inches. Bill, very flat. Wings, long and 
pointed. Tail, but little shorter than wing. 

Eastern North America in woodlands. Nest, a pretty struct¬ 
ure saddled on a horizontal bough, of fine fibers stuck over with 
lichens, the whole looking like an excrescence of the tree. 

Eggs, four to five, creamy white, marked with reddish 
brown and lilac. 

Has a drawling note, pe a wee a pe wee. 

“ Every morning,” said Miss Sweet, I have in¬ 
tended to speak again about the ‘tables.’ I have some¬ 
times thought that when you have copied them in your 
note books, you consider your work with them is done, 
while really they are the most important part of our 
lessons, since they contain accurate information, and if 
you study them carefully you will be able to know 
every bird described. There is a great difference of 
opinion about the Pewee, some writers consider him 
interesting, while others think him quarrelsome and 
his iteration of ‘pee-ee-wee-ee’ positively tiresome.” 

“ Auntie says,” said Laura, “ that the Pewee is 
about the only bird that she cannot endure. She says 
he sits in the shade and laments just like some folks, 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


109 


who shut all sunshine out of their lives and then go 
around complaining and expecting folks to pity them. 
She thinks he has little to recommend him in any way, 
as he quarrels with his relatives and neighbors and is 
not even good-looking or graceful.” 

“ She is rather hard on the poor little bird,” said 
the boy who had been the first to compare birds to 
people. “ I know he is a sad-looking bird with droop¬ 
ing wings and tail, but if you sit and watch this forlorn 
little fellow and listen to his doleful song, you will be 
surprised to see him rouse up suddenly and perform 
his remarkable gyrations. When a fly comes near— 
Whizz! he goes after it, turns a somerset, catches it, 
and is back again in a second. I think he is very 
interesting.” 

I can hardly tell the Pewee, the Phoebe and the 
Chickadee apart,” said one of the girls. 

“ Even the poets sometimes mistake them,” replied 
Miss Sweet. • ^'The Pewee’s song is more drawling and 
sad than that of the Phoebe;, while the Chickadee’s is 
more lively than either, and contains more notes. Of 
the three, the Chickadee is the most sociable and fear¬ 
less.” 

I like to hear them after all the other birds 
are still,” said Laura, “ it makes me think of the 
‘Amen’ at the close of an anthem.” 

“Do they always come at the same time in the 
spring. Miss Sweet?” asked “Querist.” 

“No! there is a great variation in their time of 


110 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


arrival, but they seem to know when to come. That is 
the mystery that Laura wrote about in her essay on 
the ‘ Migration of Birds.’ Still, it sometimes happens 
that a cold rain sets in after their arrival, and, unless 
they find shelter many of them perish, for their 
feathers are not oily or close enough to be a protection 
in bad weather.” 

‘‘The nest of the Pewee is beautiful,” said “Stu¬ 
dent.” “He is a good Architect, if he is not a poet 
or very loveable.” 

“After all, this bird seems to be quite interesting 
although he is not a very great favorite with the poet,” 
said “Baby.” “I will recite some lines by John T. 
Trowbridge about the 

PEWEE. 


For so I found my forest bird, 

The Pewee of the loneliest woods 
Sole singer in these solitudes, 

Which never Robin’s whistle stirred. 

Where never Bluebird’s plume intrudes. 

Quick darting through the dewy morn, 

The Redstart trilled its twittering horn, 

And vanished in thick boughs; at even 
Like liquid pearls fresh showered from Heaven 
The high notes of the lone Wood Thrush 
Fall on the forests lonely hush; 

But thou all day complainest here 

Pewee ! pewee ! pe-ere ! 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


Ill 


QUESTIONS. 

Where is the Pewee’s favorite home ? 

What are its habits as to food and nest building ? 
In how many ways may we distinguish the Pewee 
from the Phoebe (Pewit) or the-Chickadee ? 

Why cannot the Phoebe and the Pewee winter in 
the north as well as the Chickadee ? 

Which of the three is your favorite ? 

Why? 

Have the poets written much about the Pewee ? 
What kind of a nest does this bird build ? 


THE BOBOLINK. 


{Dolicho'nyx oryzi'vorus.) 




HE Bobolink or Meadow-Wink is 7 to 7^ inches long. 
Claws, long and feet strong for walking or clinging to 
weeds. Plumage of male, black, white and buff from 
May to August, when it changes to something like that 
of the female, a yellowish brown. Female smaller than male. 

Tail feathers, stiff and acute. Found in eastern United States 
and Canada. Breeds in June and July, after which they collect 
in large flocks and migrate. 

Their food in the early summer consists of insects entirely. 
In the middle states they are called “reed birds,” in the South 
“rice birds” and in the West Indies, where they winter, they are 
called butter-birds. 

They nest on the ground. Eggs, four to six, a slate gray, 
spotted and mottled with dark brown. They migrate at night. 


‘‘ You see by Laura’s table,” said Miss Sweet, 
“ that our present lesson begins with the Bobolink. I 
have written down the names of birds that you see on 
the blackboard, which I desire you to copy into your 
note books. I cannot emphasize too frequently the use 
of the ‘tables’ in your future study. I hope when 
school opens next fall that you will have taken many 
notes, from observation, on the habits of birds, their 
food, and their homes, for which you will have ample 
opportunity, even though you do not spend the vacation 
in the country.” 


112 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


113 


Bobolink. 

Cowbird. 

Catbird. 


Oriole. 

Thrush 

Veery. 


Kingbird. 


Humming Bird. 


“ Does the Bobolink really travel In the night ? ” 
quickly asked ^‘Querist. 

“Yes,” replied Miss Sweet. “John Burroughs 
says he has awakened in the middle of the night and 
heard their faint notes as they were passing over the 
city of Washington on their return from the north.” 

“ I used to hear him often in Massachusetts,” said 
Laura, “ but I seldom hear him here. We children 
used to call him the Jolly rover,’ because he never 
seemed to be quiet, and his song had a rollicking sound, 
as though he was full of fun. I have often heard him 
just after sunrise, and, indeed, at all hours of the day, 
for he seems to like to sing when folks are around to 
hear him.” 

“ He is a beautiful bird in spring and summer,” 
said “ Artist. ” “ It seems strange that he should 

lose his pretty coat in autumn. I have seen him hover¬ 
ing over the nest where his mate was sitting, and sing 
as though he could not express his joy. He was like 
a beautiful vision of happiness. I have often found 
his nest on the ground, in the meadow at my grand¬ 
father’s, and have watched him for hours.” 

“ We didn’t use to think much of him in the 
south,” remarked a girl who had only recently come 
north to live. “ Everybody thought he was a great 


]14 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


pest, as he destroys millions of dollars’ worth of rice 
every year. On his way north he eats the freshly 
planted seed, and when he returns in autumn he feasts 
on the matured crop.” 



“Isn’t it strange that he should seem almost like 
a robber in one part of the* country and more like a 
poet in another?” asked “Querist.” 

“Yes,” replied the southern girl. “It is hard for 
me to realize the qualities ascribed to the Bobolink.” 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 

“He is a great favorite with us in 
the north/’ said Miss Sweet, ‘‘and the 
poets have written many pretty things 
about him. I will recite Lorenzo D. 
Gillespie’s verses on the 



BOBOLINK. 


When the summer leaves were green 
And the shrubbery cast a shade, 
Where the richest flowers were seen 
And the gayest birds that played? 
As I walked along and mused, 

Oft I paused to catch this note 
Pouring from his tiny throat— 
Sping, spang, spink, 
Bobolink, Bobolink. 



Those were balmy days of youth 

When no trouble crossed my mind; 

Then my garnished shield was truth. 

And my thoughts were all sublime; 

But like youth those days are past 
And no voice has ever sung 
that did when Bobbie sang— 

Sping, spang, spink. 

Bobolink, Bobolink. 

The pupils were so delighted with this 
they again forgot they were in school 
and applauded her heartily. When 
quiet was restored, they recited in con¬ 
cert the following lines by Thomas Hill: 


115 



116 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


Gayest songster of the spring ! 

Thy melodies before me bring 
Visions of some dream-built land 
Where, by constant zephyrs fanned, 

I might walk the livelong day, 

Embosomed in perpetual May. 

Nor care nor fear thy bosom knows, 

For thee a tempest never blows; 

But when our northern summer’s o’er. 

By Delaware’s or Schuylkill’s shore 
The wild rice lifts its airy head. 

And royal feasts for thee are spread. 

And when the winter threatens there. 

Thy tireless wings yet own no fear. 

But bear thee to more southern coasts. 

Far beyond the reach of frosts. 

Bobolink ! still may thy gladness 
Take from me all taints of sadness. 

“Student” said: “James Russell Lowell was a 
great lover of this bird. He said: 

Why, I’d give more for one live Bobolink 
Than a square mile o’ larks in printer’s ink. 

“ My mother,” she continued, “ called my attention 
to these beautiful lines by him: 

June’s bridesman, poet o’ the year. 

Gladness on wings, the Bobolink is here; 

Half-hid in tip-top apple bloom he sings. 

Or climbs against the breeze with quiverin’ wings. 

Or, givin’ way to ’t in mock despair. 

Runs down a brook o’ laughter, thro’ the air. 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


117 


QUESTIONS. 

Is the Bobolink always jolly? 

Have you ever heard him sing ? 

At what time of the year does he sing ? 

How long does he wear his bright coat? 

Where do they build their nests ? 

How are they treated in the northern states ? 

How in the southern ? 

What does Bryant say of “ Robert of Lincoln’s 
Quaker wife” ? 

Have you read The O' Lincoln Family, by Wilson 
Flagg? 




COWBIRD. 

{Milothrus a'ter.) 


b USTROUS green black with steel blue, purple and violet 
iridescence. Head and neck, deep wood brown with some 
purple lustre; bill and feet, black; length, lyi to 8 inches. 
Female, a dusky grayish brown with slight greenish lustre 
on upper parts; young, duller brown. 

North America; migratory, abundant, gregarious, parasitic. 
It builds no nest, but lays its eggs in the nests of other 
birds smaller than itself. The eggs hatch sooner than other eggs 
and so crowd out the rightful owner of the nest. Usually one 
egg in a nest; sometimes more. White, speckled with brown. 

Miss Sweet had asked one of the girls to write 
about this bird, and now asked her to read her essay, 
which was entitled: 


A BLACKBIRD’S COUSIN. 


Cowbirds are not, in themselves, an interesting 
class, but they have furnished a theme for many enter¬ 
taining bird stories and lengthy descriptions of their 
peculiar habits. 

The only attractive thing about them is their 
unlikeness to all other birds. They have no beauty, 
no song, no nest; and seem to be of little importance to 
the world except to eat a few insects and noxious seeds. 
Captain Bendire, in “Life Histories of American Birds,” 
says: “Their food is chiefly small grains and the seeds 

of ragweed, smartweed, and fox-tail grass. Taking its 

118 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 119 

food alone into consideration it does perhaps more good 
than harm.” 

They, without doubt, destroy many insect-eating 
birds by crowding them out of the nest or taking the 
food from them and starving them while they are quite 
young. 

Birds resort to various methods to rid themselves 
of the strange egg or eggs when they find them in 
their nests. As the eggs are usually laid in the nests 
of small birds, they have no way of getting them out 
without breaking them and spoiling the nest. Some 
birds desert the nest, others build a second nest over 
the egg, while many sit upon them, hatch them and 
watch over and care for them as tenderly as their own. 

No poet has ever written a line in honor of the 
Cowbird, in fact, little can be said in its favor. Cow- 
birds are the outcasts of bird society. 

I have read an amusing story somewhere of a 
Cowbird stealing away from the flock and depositing 
an egg in the newly made nest of a Catbird. The 
Catbird is not so often victimized as some of our 
smaller birds; but this time, seeing a new nest 
unguarded, Mrs. Cowbird quietly took possession. 
When the Catbird returned and found an egg in her 
nest, she looked about for the intruder of her new 
domicile. Seeing an innocent Sparrow near by she 
flew furiously at him and gave him a severe trouncing. 
Then, with the help of her mate she succeeded in 
removing the strange egg from her nest. 


120 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


The Cowbird is one of the smaller Blackbird’s, and 
so I suppose is a cousin to the Purple Crackle. Even 
the Bobolink and Meadowlark belong to the same 
family, although, I should think they would be ashamed, 
of their bad and disagreeable relative. 

QUESTIONS. 

Why are not Cowbirds interesting ? 

Why have not the poets written about this bird ? 

Why do they not rear their own young ? 

Do you consider them selfish birds, seeking only 
their own pleasure and crowding out their better 
neighbors ? 

How are they regarded by other birds ? 

What other birds belong to the same family? 


THE CATBIRD 



{Mimus carolinen'sis) 

lyATE) GRAY, paler below. Crown of head, bill and 
feet, black. Quills of wings, blackish. L<ength, 8 to 9 
inches. Young of a more sooty color. United States and 
British Provinces, west to Rocky Mountains. Migra¬ 
tory, but resident in southern states. 

Nest of sticks, leaves, and bark in bushes or low trees. 

Eggs, four to six, deep greenish blue, not spotted. 

Remarkable for its harsh cry like the mewing of a cat, but 
also possessed of eminent vocal ability, like others of the Thrush 
family. 

An abundant and familiar inhabitant of our groves and 
briery tracts. 


Miss Sweet was surprised to find that one of the 
boys, who had seemed to take little interest in the les¬ 
sons, had prej5ared without solicitation a little sketch 
about 


THE CATBIRD. 

These birds are very trim, neat and Qnakerlike 
in appearance, but not in action. They delight in 
hearing themselves sing and in being heard. They 
are merry and lively, singing not only their own song, 
blit often trying the songs of other birds. It is said 
that they can deceive the Quail, the Pewee and the 
Chewink by an imitation of their notes. The catlike 

sound they make, from which they get their name, is the 

121 


122 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


only unpleasant feature of the Catbirds. To atone for 
this harsh note they have a low “ whisper song ” about the 
nest, that is remarkably sweet and musical. Whether 
it is the mother-bird’s lullaby song, or her mate’s house¬ 
hold words of love, in minor keys, is not known. 

I have read about the Catbird in several books on 
birds, and I find that authorities differ concerning his 
character. John B. Grant, in his little book on “Our 
Common Birds, and How to Know Them,” says, “The 
bird is really a handsome one, but, owing to its skulk¬ 
ing habits, and the unsocial manner in which it resents 
inspection, scarcely a favorite;” while William Everett 
Cram, in “Bird Land Echoes” says, “Do one thing 
well and perfection is expected in all directions, yet 
who among men and which of the birds has ever 
reached this high degree? The Catbird has reasons 
for not singing in August, and for what we interpret as 
complaining instead. It is none of our business. We 
are wholly unreasonable. There is enough sweetness 
in the May-day orchard song of the bird to remain with 
us a delightful recollection until May-day comes again, 
and for this we should be thankful.” It seems to me 
that few people ever remember, either in birds or chil¬ 
dren, the pleasant words and actions, when for any 
reason they appear peevish and unreasonable. 

The Catbird occasionally stays all winter, al¬ 
though he usually goes south, returning in early May. 
His cat-like cry is sometimes tiresome, but, from my 
own observation, I consider him a very interesting bird 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


123 


and easily tamed. He has a bad name, and is said to 
destroy the eggs of other birds. His food is similar to 
a Robin’s, and opinion is divided as to whether he 
helps the farmer by destroying insects or hinders him 
by stealing fruit. My own opinion is, that, like some 
mischievous boys, he has acquired a bad name through 
his love of fun, and desire to have a good time. 

Leander S. Keyser, in his In Birdland,” gives an 
amusing incident of a Catbird singing with “a bit of 
paper in its bill, which gave to its tones a peculiar 
resonance. He was one of the choicest minstrels of 
Birdland I have ever heard, his voice being of excellent 
timbre^ his tones pure and liquid, and his execution 
almost perfect.” 

The Wren and the Thrasher, who are also noted 
vocalists, are his cousins. His song sometimes resem¬ 
bles the Red Thrush, but the Catbird has some notes 
that will distinguish it from the song of this bird. 

The essay excited a good deal of discussion. 
Afterward Miss Sweet recited 


A RAIN SONG. 


BY CWNTON SCOi:.I.ARD. 

After long days of golden glare, 

How sweet the music of the rain' 
And how ecstatic on the air 
The Catbird’s silvery strain! 


124 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


I see him in his cloistered gown, 
This tuneful eremite in gray, 
Swaying in rapture up and down 
On yon althea spray ? 


His passionate runs and tremolos, 
Transcend the clearest notes of art, 
As doth the peerless summer rose 
Its winter counterpart. 


His throat seems thrilled with lyric fire, 
And listening there thrills me through 
A touch of that divine desire 
The elder poets knew. 


My soul would search the secret springs 
Where life’s supremest meanings throng 
Would set sublime celestial things 
To chords of earthly song. 


A sudden mellow change, and lo ! 

The impulse, like a ray, is gone. 
As from the clouds the vermeil glow 
At the full burst of dawn. 


Yet who shall say such sounds are sent 
Unto the spirit sense in vain ? 

Did it not hide some large intent, • 
That bird song in the rain ? 


BALTIMORE ORIOLE. 


M 


{Ic^terus gal'bula.\ 

AMED from the title of Sir George Calvert, first Baron 
of Baltimore, whose colors were orange and black. 
Head, neck and back, black; wings, black, edged and 
tipped with white; middle tail coverts, black; other tail and all 
other parts, fiery orange; bill and feet, blue black; length, 7.50 
to 8 inches. 

Female, smaller and paler, more olive than black; nest, a 
deftly woven fabric, hanging in the very tops of shade trees; 
eggs, four to six, shaded white, spotted and scrawled with blackish 
brown, and other heavy markings. 

One of our most beautiful birds, as well as a fine and con¬ 
stant singer during the breeding season. United States and 
British Provinces. Migratory. 

Another boy volunteered the following informa¬ 
tion concerning 


THE ORIOLE. 

This bird has a diversity of gifts. He is not only 
one of the most brilliant in plumage, and has one of 
the brightest songs, but he claims a place in the front 
rank of nest builders. His custom is to weave a purse¬ 
like nest, from three to six inches deep, fastened high 
up to slender swaying twigs; but he has been known 
to make a shallow basket-shaped nest on the top of a 
horizontal limb. Such a nest he builds lower, among 
the leaves. 


125 


126 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


There is a little English book on birds that makes 
this statement: “ The Baltimore Oriole lives in Balti¬ 
more in North America. It builds a hanging nest 
about three feet long and one foot across.” Where 
would the poor little Orioles be in a nest like that ? 



BALTIMORE ORIOLE. 

[one-half life-size.] 

Some people object to the Oriole’s shrill whistle, 
while others praise it extravagantly. It probably de¬ 
pends upon when and where it is heard. 

John Burroughs, in “Wake Robin,” gives a very 
interesting account of the Baltimore Oriole. This was 






OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


127 


of more interest to me than anything else that I have 
read, that it is possible for an ordinary reader to get 
hold of. 

The ‘‘Golden Robin” is said by some writers to 
destroy fruit blossoms, but others say that they destroy 
larvse which infest the blossoms. This seems most 
probable, as its food consists of insects. 

The squirrel is an enemy to this bird, and destroys 
its eggs. Its nest is very curious and it uses all kinds 
of thread-like materials. It is a beautiful and unusu¬ 
ally interesting bird. 

Edgar Fawcett describes this bird in the following 
beautiful lines: 

How falls it, Oriole, thou hast come to fly 
In tropic splendor through our northern sky ? 

At some glad moment was it nature’s choice 
To dower a scrap of sunset with a voice ? 

Or did some orange tulip flaked with black 
In some forgotten garden, ages back. 

Yearning toward Heaven until its wish was heard 
Desire unspeakably to be a bird ? 

Another charming poem is 

THE ORIOLE. 

BY JAMKS RUSSKI.I. I,OWKl.I<. 

Hush ! ’Tis he ! 

My Oriole, my glance of summer fire 
Is come at last, and, ever on the watch, 

Twitches the pack-thread I had lightly wound 
About the bough to help his housekeeping,— 


128 


OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 


Twitches and scouts by turns, blessing his luck. 

Yet fearing me who laid it in his way, 

Nor, more than wiser we in our affairs. 

Divines the providence that hides and helps. 

Heave^ ho! Heave^ ho! he whistles as the twine 
Slackens its hold; once iJiore^ now! and a flash 
Lightens across the sunlight to the elm 
Where his mate dangles at her cup of felt. 

Nor all his booty is the thread; he trails 
My loosened thought with it along the air, 

And I must follow, would I ever find 
The inward rhyme to all this wealth of life. 

QUESTIONS. 

Who are the Oriole’s enemies ? 

What material does he use in building ? 

Is the female as brilliant in color as the male? 

How long does the Oriole sing ? 

What is his food and how does he get it ? 

Does he prefer to build near dwellings or in the 
wood ? 

Does he build the same kind of nest in all situ¬ 
ations ? 

Have you read anything about the Oriole by John 
Burroughs ? 




I 






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